c 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 


Books  by  the  Same  Author 


CAMP  BRAVE  PINE 
JANET  OF  THE  DUNES 
JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 
LITTLE  DUSKY  HERO,  A 
MEG  AND. THE  OTHERS 
PLACE  BEYOND  THE  WINDS,  THE 
PRINCESS  RAGS  AND  TATTERS 
SON  OF  THE  HILLS,  A 
VINDICATION,  THE 


"In  Thy  sight,"  he  said  slowly,  deeply,  "I  take  this 
woman  for  my  wife.  Bless  us;  keep  us;  and — deal  Thou 
with  me  as  I  deal  with  her." 


(Sfc  pa  ft  114) 


THE 
MAN  THOU  GAYEST 


BY 

HARRIET  T.  COMSTOCK 


Illustrated  by 
E.  F.  WARD 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1917 


Copyright,  1917,  by 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages, 

including  the  Scandinavian 


DEDICATION 

/  dedicate  this  book  of  mine  to  the  lovely 
spot  where  most  of  it  was  written 

THE  MACDOWELL  COLONY 

PETERBOROUGH 

NEW    HAMPSHIRE 

AND 

"TO  HER  WHO  UNDERSTANDS" 

Deep  in  the  pine  woods  is  the  little  Studio  where  work 
is  made  supremely  possible.  Around  the  house  the  birds 
and  trees  sing  together  and  no  disturbing  thing  is  per- 
mitted to  trespass. 

Within,  like  a  tangible  Presence,  an  atmosphere  of 
loved  labour;  good  will  and  high  hopes  greet  the  com- 
ing guests  and  speed  the  parting. 

Little  Studio  in  the  pine  woods,  my  appreciation  and 
affection  are  yours! 

HARRIET  T.  COMSTOCK 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

In  Thy  sight,"  he  said  slowly,  deeply,  "  I  take 
this  woman  for  my  wife.  Bless  us;  keep  us; 
and — deal  Thou  with  me  as  I  deal  with  her  " 

Frontispiece 


FACING  PAGE 


Do  you  think  I  am  the  sort  of  girl  who  would 
sell  herself  for  anything — even  for  the  justice  I 
might  think  was  yours?  " 256 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  passengers,  one  by  one,  left  the  train 
but  Truedale  took  no  heed.  He  was  the 
only  one  left  at  last,  but  he  was  not  aware 
of  it,  and  then,  just  as  the  darkness  outside  caught 
his  attention,  the  train  stopped  so  suddenly  that  it 
nearly  threw  him  from  his  seat. 

"Accident?"  he  asked  the  conductor.  "No,  sah! 
Pine  Cone  station.  I  reckon  the  engineer  come 
mighty  nigh  forgetting — he  generally  does  at  the 
end.  The  tracks  stop  here.  You  look  mighty 
peaked;  some  one  expecting  yo'?" 

"I've  been  ill.  My  doctor  ordered  me  to  the  hills. 
Yes:  some  one  will  meet  me."  Truedale  did  not 
resent  the  interest  the  man  showed;  he  was  grateful. 

"Well,  sah,  if  yo'  man  doesn't  show  up — an* 
sometimes  they  don't,  owing  to  bad  roads — you 
can  come  back  with  us  after  we  load  up  with  the 
wood.  I  live  down  the  track  five  miles;  we  lie  thar 
fur  the  night.  Yo'  don't  look  equal  to  taking  to 
yo'  two  standing  feet." 

The  entire  train  force  of  three  men  went  to  gather 

3 


4  THE   MAN   THOU   GAYEST 

fuel  for  the  return  trip  and,  dejectedly,  Truedale 
sat  down  in  the  gloom  and  silence  to  await  events. 

No  human  being  materialized  and  Truedale  gave 
himself  up  to  gloomy  thoughts.  Evidently  he  must 
return  on  the  train  and  to-morrow  morning  take 
to — just  then  a  spark  like  a  falling  star  attracted 
his  attention  and  to  his  surprise  he  saw,  not  a 
dozen  feet  away,  a  tall  lank  man  leaning  against  a 
tree  in  an  attitude  so  adhesive  that  he  might  have 
been  a  fungus  growth  or  sprig  of  destroying  mistle- 
toe. It  never  occurred  to  Truedale  that  this  in- 
different onlooker  could  be  interested  in  him,  but 
he  might  be  utilized  in  the  emergency,  so  he  saluted 
cordially. 

"Hello,  friend!" 

By  the  upward  and  downward  curve  of  the  glow- 
ing pipe  bowl,  Truedale  concluded  the  man  was 
nodding. 

"I'm  waiting  for  Jim  White." 

"So?"  The  one  word  came  through  the  darkness 
without  interest. 

"Do  you  happen  to  know  him?" 

"Sorter." 

"Could  you — get  me  to  his  place?" 

"I  reckon.     That's  what  I  come  ter  do." 

"I — I  had  a  trunk  sent  on  ahead;  perhaps  it  is 
in  that  shed?" 

"It's  up  to — to  Jim's  place.  Can  you  ride  be- 
hind me  on  the  mare?  Travelling  is  tarnation  bad." 


THE   MAN   THOU   GAYEST  5 

Once  they  were  on  the  mare's  back,  conver- 
sation dragged,  then  died  a  natural  death.  True- 
dale  felt  as  if  he  were  living  a  bit  of  anti-war  romance 
as  he  jogged  along  behind  his  guide,  his  grip  knocking 
unpleasantly  against  his  leg  as  the  way  got  rougher. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when,  in  a  little  clearing 
close  by  the  trail,  the  lights  of  a  cabin  shone  cheerily 
and  the  mare  stopped  short  and  definitely. 

"I  hope  White  is  at  home!"  Truedale  was  worn  to 
the  verge  of  exhaustion. 

"I  be  Jim  White!"  The  man  dismounted  and 
stood  ready  to  assist  his  guest. 

"Welcome,  stranger.  Any  one  old  Doc  McPher- 
son  sends  here  brings  his  welcome  with  him." 

About  a  fortnight  later,  ConningTruedale  stretched 
his  long  legs  out  toward  Jim  White's  roaring  fire  of 
pine  knots  and  cones.  It  was  a  fierce  and  furious 
fire  but  the  night  was  sharp  and  cold.  There  was 
no  other  light  in  the  room  than  that  of  the  fire — 
nor  was  any  needed. 

Jim  sat  by  the  table  cleaning  a  gun.  Truedale 
was  taking  account  of  himself.  He  held  his  long, 
brown  hand  up  to  the  blaze;  it  was  as  steady  as 
that  of  a  statue!  He  had  walked  ten  miles  that 
day  and  felt  exhilarated.  Night  brought  sleep, 
meal  time — and  often  in  between  times — brought 
appetite.  He  had  made  an  immense  gain  in  health. 

"How  long  have  I  been  here,  Jim?"  he  asked  in 
a  slow,  calm  voice. 


"Come  Thursday,  three  weeks!"  When  Jim  was 
most  laconic  he  was  often  inwardly  bursting  with 
desire  for  conversation.  After  a  silence  Conning 
spoke  again: 

"Say,  Jim,  are  there  any  other  people  in  this 
mountain  range,  except  you  and  me?" 

"Ugh!  just  bristlin'  with  folks!  Getting  too 
darned  thick.  That's  why  I've  got  ter  get  into  the 
deep  woods.  I  just  naturally  hate  folks  except  in 
small  doses.  Why" — here  Jim  put  the  gun  down 
upon  the  table — "five  mile  back,  up  on  Lone  Dome, 
is  the  Greyson's,  and  it  ain't  nine  miles  to  Jed 
Martin's  place.  Miss  Lois  Ann's  is  a  matter  o' 
sixteen  miles;  what  do  you  call  population  if  them 
figures  don't  prove  it?" 

Something  had  evidently  disturbed  White's  ideas 
of  isolation  and  independence — it  would  all  come  out 
later.  Trued  ale  knew  his  man  fairly  well  by  that 
time;  at  least  he  thought  he  did.  Again  Jim  took 
up  his  gun  and  Con  thought  lazily  that  he  must  get 
over  to  his  shack.  He  occupied  a  small  cabin — 
Dr.  McPherson's  property  for  sleeping  purposes. 

"Do  yo'  know,"  Jim  broke  in  suddenly;  "yo' 
mind  me  of  a  burr  runnin'  wild  in  a  flock  of  sheep— 
gatherin'  as  yo'  go.  Yo'  sho  are  a  miracle!  Now 
old  Doc  McPherson  was  like  a  shadder  when  he 
headed  this  way — but  he  took  longer  gatherin', 
owin'  to  age  an'  natural  defects  o'  build.  Your 
frame  was  picked  right  close,  but  a  kind  o'  flabby 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  7 

layer  of  gristle  and  fat  hung  ter  him  an'  wasn't  a 
good  foundation  to  build  on." 

Conning  gave  a  delighted  laugh.  Once  Jim  White 
began  to  talk  of  his  own  volition  his  discourse 
flowed  on  until  hunger  or  weariness  overtook  him. 
His  silences  had  the  same  quality — it  was  the  way 
Jim  began  that  mattered. 

"When  I  first  took  ter  handlin'  yo'  for  ole  Doc 
McPherson,  I  kinder  hated  ter  take  my  eyes  off  yo' 
fearin'  yo'  might  slip  out,  but  Gawd!  yo'  can  grap- 
ple fo'  yo'  self  now  and — I  plain  hanker  fur  the 
sticks." 

"The  sticks?"     This  was  a  new  expression. 

"Woods!"  Jim  vouchsafed  (he  despised  the 
stupidity  that  required  interpretation  of  perfectly 
plain  English),  "deep  woods!  What  with  Burke 
Lawson  suspected  of  bein'  nigh,  an'  my  duty  as 
sheriff  consarnin'  him  hittin'  me  in  the  face,  I've 
studied  it  out  that  it  will  be  a  mighty  reasonable 
trick  fur  this  here  officer  of  the  law  to  be  somewhere 
else  till  Burke  settles  with  his  friends  an'  foes,  or 
takes  himself  off,  'fore  he's  strung  up  or  shot  up." 

Truedale  turned  his  chair  about  and  faced  Jim. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "you've  mentioned 
more  names  in  the  last  ten  minutes  than  you've  men- 
tioned in  all  the  weeks  I've  been  here?  You  give 
me  a  mental  cramp.  Why,  I  thought  you  and  I 
had  these  hills  to  ourselves;  instead  we're  threatened 
on  every  side,  and  yet  I  haven't  seen  a  soul  on  my 


8  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

tramps.  Where  do  they  keep  themselves?  What 
has  this  Burke  Lawson  done,  to  stir  the  people?" 

"You  don't  call  your  santers  real  tramps,  do  you? 
Why  folks  is  as  thick  as  ticks  up  here,  though  they 
don't  knock  elbows  like  what  they  do  where  you  cum 
from.  They  don't  holler  out  ter  'tract  yer  atten- 
tion, neither.  But  they're  here." 

"Let's  hear  more  of  Burke  Lawson."  Truedale 
gripped  him  from  the  seething  mass  of  humanity 
portrayed  by  White,  as  the  one  promising  most 
colour  and  interest.  "Just  where  does  Burke  live?" 

"Burke?  Gawd!  Burke  don't  live  anywhere. 
He  is  a  born  floater.  He  scrooges  around  a  place 
and  raises  the  devil,  then  he  just  naturally  floats 
ofF.  But  he  nearly  always  comes  back.  Since  the 
trap-settin'  a  time  back,  he  has  been  mighty  scarce 
in  these  parts;  but  any  day  he  may  turn  up." 

"The  trap,  eh?  What  about  that?"  With  this 
Truedale  turned  about  again,  for  Jim,  having  fin- 
ished his  work  on  the  gun,  had  placed  the  weapon 
on  its  pegs  on  the  wall  and  had  drawn  near  the  fire. 
He  ran  his  hand  through  his  crisp,  gray  hair  until 
it  stood  on  end  and  gave  him  a  peculiarly  bristling 
appearance.  He  was  about  to  enjoy  himself.  He 
was  as  keen  for  gossip  as  any  cabin  woman  of  the 
hills,  but  Jim  was  an  artist  about  sharing  his  knowl- 
edge. However,  once  he  decided  to  share,  he  shared 
royally. 

"I've  been  kinder  waitin'  fur  yo'  to  show  some 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  9 

interest  in  us-all,"  he  began,  "it's  a  plain  sign  of 
yo'  gettin'  on.  I  writ  the  same  to  old  Doc  McPher- 
son  yesterday!  'When  he  takes  to  noticin','  I  writ, 
'he's  on  the  mend." 

Conning  laughed  good  naturedly.  "Oh!  I'm  on 
the  mend,  all  right,"  he  said. 

"Now  as  to  that  trap  business,"  Jim  took  up 
the  story,  "I'll  have  to  go  back  some  and  tell  yo' 
about  the  Greysons  and  Jed  Martin — they  all  be 
linked  like  sassages.  Pete  Greyson  lives  up  to 
Lone  Dome.  Pete  came  from  stock;  he  ain't  trash 
by  a  long  come,  but  he  can  act  like  it!  Pete's  for- 
bears drank  wine  and  talked  like  lords;  Pete  has  ter 
rely  on  mountain  dew  and  that  accounts  fur  the 
difference  in  his  goin's-on;  but  once  he's  sober,  he's 
quality — is  Pete.  Pete's  got  two  darters — Marg 
an'  Nella-Rose.  Old  Doc  McPherson  use'  ter  call 
'em  types,  whatever  that  means.  Marg  is  a  type, 
sure  and  sartin,  but  Nella-Rose  is  a  little  no-count — 
that's  what  I  say.  But  blame  it  all,  it's  Nella-Rose 
as  has  set  the  mountains  goin',  so  far  as  I  can  see. 
Fellers  come  courtin'  Marg  and  they  just  slip  through 
her  fingers  an'  Nella-Rose  gets  'em.  She  don't  want 
'em  'cept  to  play  with  and  torment  Marg.  Gawd! 
how  them  two  gals  do  get  each  other  edgy.  Round 
about  Lone  Dome  they  call  Nella-Rose  the  doney- 
gal — that  meaning  'sweetheart';  she's  responsible 
for  more  trouble  than  a  b'ar  with  a  sore  head,  or 
Burke  Lawson  on  a  tear." 


io  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

Conning  was  becoming  vitally  interested  and 
showed  it,  to  Jim's  delight;  this  was  a  dangerous 
state  for  White,  he  was  likely,  once  started  and  flat- 
tered, to  tell  more  than  was  prudent. 

"Jed  Martin"-— Jim  gave  a  chuckle — "has  been 
tossed  between  them  two  gals  like  a  hot  corn  pone. 
He'd  take  Nella-Rose  quick  enough  if  she'd  have  him, 
but  barrin'  her,  he  hangs  to  Marg  so  as  ter  be  nigh 
Nella-Rose  in  any  case.  And  right  here  Burke 
Lawson  riggers.  Burke's  got  two  naturs,  same  as  old 
Satan.  Marg  can  play  on  one  and  get  him  plumb 
riled  up  to  anythin';  Nella-Rose  can  twist  him  around 
her  finger  and  make  him  act  like  the  Second  Coming." 

Conning  called  a  halt.  "What's  the  Second 
Coming?"  he  asked,  his  eyes  twinkling. 

"Meaning? — good  as  a  Bible  character,"  Jim 
explained  huffily.  "Gawd,  man!  do  your  own  think- 
in'.  I  can't  talk  an'  splanify  ter  onct." 

"Oh!  I  see.     Well,  go  on,  Jim." 

"There  be  times  of  the  moon  when  I  declare  that 
no-count  Nella-Rose  just  plain  seems  possessed;  has 
ter  do  somethin'  and  does  it!  Three  months  ago, 
come  Saturday,  or  thereabouts,  she  took  it  into  her 
head  to  worst  Marg  at  every  turn  and  let  it  out  that 
she  was  goin'  to  round  up  all  the  fellers  and  take  her 
pick!  She  had  the  blazin'  face  ter  come  down  here 
and  tell  me  that!  Course  Marg  knew  it,  but  the  two 
most  consarned  didn't — meaning  Jed  and  Burke. 
Least  they  suspected — but  warn't  sure.  Jed  meant 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  n 

to  get  Burke  out  o'  the  way  so  he  could  have  a  clear 
space  to  co't  Nella-Rose,  so  he  aimed  to  shoot  one 
o'  Burke 's  feet  just  enough  to  lay  him  up — Jed  is  the 
slow,  calculatin'  kind  and  an  almighty  sure  shot. 
He  reckoned  Burke  couldn't  walk  up  Lone  Dome  with 
a  sore  foot,  so  he  laid  for  him,  meanin'  afterward  to 
say  he  was  huntin'  an'  took  Burke  for  a  'possum. 
Well,  Burke  got  wind  of  the  plot;  I'm  thinkin'  Marg 
put  a  flea  in  his  ear,  anyway  he  set  a  trap  just  by  the 
path  leading  from  the  trail  to  Lone  Dome.  Gawd! 
Jed  planted  his  foot  inter  it  same  as  if  he  meant  ter, 
and  what  does  that  Burke  do  but  take  a  walk  with 
Nella-Rose  right  past  the  place  where  Jed  was 
caught!  'Corse  he  was  yellin'  somethin'  terrible. 
They  helped  Jed  out  and  I  reckon  Nella-Rose  was 
innocent  enough,  but  Jed  writ  up  the  account  'gainst 
Burke  and  Burke  floated  ofF  for  a  spell.  He  ain't 
floated  back  yet — not  yet!  But  so  long  as  Nella- 
Rose  is  above  ground  he'll  naturally  cum  back." 

"And  Nella-Rose,  the  little  no-count;  did  she 
repay  Jed,  the  poor  cuss?" 

"Nella-Rose  don't  repay  no  one — she  ain't  more'n 
half  real,  whatever  way  you  put  it.  But  just  see 
how  this  fixes  a  sheriff,  will  yo'  ?  Knowing  what  I  do, 
I  can't  jail  either  o'  them  chaps  with  a  cl'ar  conscience. 
Gawd!  I'd  like  to  pass  a  law  to  cage  all  females  and 
only  let'em  out  with  a  string  to  their  legs!"  Then 
White  laughed  reminiscently. 

"What  now,  Jim?" 


12  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"Gals!"  White  fairly  spit  out  the  word.  "Gals!" 
There  was  an  eloquent  pause,  then  more  quietly: 
"Jest  when  yo'  place  'em  and  hate  'em  proper,  they 
up  and  do  somethin'  to  melt  yo'  like  snow  on  Lone 
Dome  in  May.  I  was  harkin'  back  to  the  little 
white  hen  and  Nella-Rosq»  There  ain't  much 
chance  to  have  a  livin'  pet  up  to  Greyson's  place. 
Anything  fit  to  eat  is  et.  Pete  drinks  the  rest. 
But  once  Nella-Rose  came  totin'  up  here  on  a  cl'ar, 
moonlight  evenin'  with  somethin'  under  her  little, 
old  shawl.  'Jim'  she  says — wheedlin'  and  coaxin' — 
'I  want  yo'  to  keep  this  here  hen  fo'  me.  I'll  bring 
its  keep,  but  I  love  it,  and  I  can't  see  it — killed!' 
That  gal  don't  never  let  tears  fall — they  jest  wet  her 
eyes  and  make  'em  shine.  With  that  she  let  loose 
the  most  owdacious  white  bantam  and  scattered 
some  corn  on  the  floor;  then  she  sat  down  and  laughed 
like  an  imp  when  the  foolish  thing  hopped  up  to  her 
and  flopped  onter  her  lap.  Well,  I  kept  the  sassy 
little  hen — there  wasn't  anything  else  ter  do — but 
one  day  Marg,  she  followed  Nella-Rose  up  and  when 
she  saw  what  was  going  on,  she  stamped  in  and  cried 
out:  'So!  yo'  can  have  playthings  while  us-all  go 
starved!  Yo'  can  steal  what's  our'n, — an'  with  that 
she  took  the  bantam  and  fo'  I  could  say  a  cuss,  she 
wrung  that  chicken's  neck  right  fo'  Nella-Rose's 
eyes!" 

"Good  Lord!"  exclaimed  Conning;  "the  young 
brute!  And  the  other  one — what  did  she  do?" 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  13 

"She  jest  looked  at  me — her  eyes  swimmin'. 
Nella-Rose  don't  talk  much  when  she's  hurt,  but  she 
don't  forget.  I  tell  yo',  young  feller,  bein'  a  sheriff 
in  this  settlement  ain't  no  joke.  Yo'  know  folks  too 
well  and  see  the  rights  and  wrongs  more'n  is  good  for 
plain  justice." 

"Well?"  Jim  rose  and  stretched  himself,  "yo' 
won't  go  on  the  b'ar  hunt  ter-morrer?" 

"No,  Jim,  but  I'll  walk  part  of  the  way  with  you. 
When  do  you  start?" 

"  'Bout  two  o'  the  mornin'." 

"Then  I'll  turn  in.  Good-night,  old  man!  You've 
given  me  a  great  evening.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  sud- 
denly projected  into  a  crowd  with  human  problems 
smashing  into  each  other  for  all  they're  worth.  You 
cannot  escape,  old  man;  that's  the  truth.  You 
cannot  escape.  Life  is  life  no  matter  where  you  find 
it." 

"Now  don't  git  ter  talkin'  perlite  to  me,"  Jim 
warned.  "Old  Doc  McPherson's  orders  was  agin 
perlite  conversation.  Get  a  scrabble  on  yer!  I'll 
knock  yer  up  'bout  two  or  thereabouts." 

Outside,  Truedale  stood  still  and  looked  at  the 
beauty  of  the  night.  The  moon  was  full  and  flooded 
the  open  space  with  a  radiance  which  contrasted 
sharply  with  the  black  shadows  and  the  outlines  of 
the  near  and  distant  peaks. 

The  silence  was  so  intense  that  the  ear,  straining 
for  sound,  ached  from  the  effort.  And  just  then  a 


i4  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

bewitched  hen  in  White's  shed  gave  a  weird  cry  and 
Truedale  started.  He  smiled  grimly  and  thought 
of  the  little  no-count  and  the  tragedy  of  the  white 
bantam.  In  the  shining  light  around  him  he  seemed 
to  see  her  pitiful  face  as  White  had  described  it — 
the  eyes  full  of  tears  but  never  overflowing,  the  misery 
and  hate,  the  loneliness  and  impotency. 

At  two  the  next  morning  Jim  tapped  on  Truedale's 
window  with  his  gun. 

"Comin'furawalk?" 

"You  bet!"  Con  was  awake  at  once  and  alert. 
Ten  minutes  later,  closing  the  doors  and  windows  of 
his  cabin  after  him,  he  joined  White  on  the  leaf- 
strewn  path  to  the  woods.  He  went  five  miles  and 
then  bade  his  host  good-bye. 

"Don't  overwork!"  grinned  Jim  sociably.  "I'll 
write  to  old  Doc  McPherson  when  I  git  back." 

"And  when  will  that  be,  Jim?" 

"I  ain't  goin'  ter  predict."  White  set  his  lips. 
"When  I  stay,  I  stay,  but  once  I  take  ter  the  woods 
there  ain't  no  sayin'.  I'll  fetch  fodder  when  I  cum, 
and  mail,  too — but  I  ain't  goin'  ter  hobble  myself 
when  I  take  ter  the  sticks." 

Tramping  back  alone  over  the  wet  autumn  leaves, 
Truedale  had  his  first  sense  of  loneliness  since  he 
came.  White,  he  suddenly  realized,  had  meant 
to  him  everything  that  he  needed,  but  with  White 
unhobbled  in  the  deep  woods,  how  was  he  to  fill  the 
time?  He  determined  to  force  himself  to  study. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  15 

He  had  wedged  one  solid  volume  in  his  trunk,  un- 
known to  his  friends.  He  would  brush  up  his  ca- 
pacity for  work — it  could  not  hurt  him  now.  He  was 
as  strong  as  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life  and  the  pros- 
pect ahead  promised  greater  gains. 

Yes,  he  would  study.  He  would  write  letters,  too 
—real  letters.  He  had  neglected  every  one,  espe- 
cially Lynda  Kendall.  The  others  did  not  matter, 
but  Lynda  mattered  more  than  anything.  She 
always  would!  And  thinking  of  Lynda  reminded 
him  that  he  had  also,  in  his  trunk,  the  play  upon 
which  he  had  worked  for  several  years  during  hours 
that  should  have  been  devoted  to  rest.  He  would 
get  out  the  play  and  try  to  breathe  life  into  it,  now 
that  he  himself  was  living.  Lynda  had  said,  when 
last  they  had  discussed  his  work,  "It's  beautiful, 
Con;  you  shall  not  belittle  it.  It  is  beautiful  like  a 
cold,  stone  thing  with  rough  edges.  Sometime  you 
must  smooth  it  and  polish  it,  and  then  you  must 
pray  over  it  and  believe  in  it,  and  I  really  think  it  will 
repay  you.  It  may  not  mean  anything  but  a  sure 
guide  to  your  goal,  but  you'd  be  grateful  for  that, 
wouldn't  you?"  Of  course  he  would  be  grateful 
for  that!  It  would  mean  life  to  him — life,  not 
mere  existence.  He  began  to  hope  that  Jim  White 
would  stay  away  a  month;  what  with  study,  and  the 
play,  and  the  doing  for  himself,  the  time  ahead  was 
provided  for  already! 

Stalking  noiselessly  forward,  Truedale  came  into 


16  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

the  clearing,  passed  White's  shack,  and  approached 
his  own  with  a  fixed  determination.  Then  he  stopped 
short.  He  was  positive  that  he  had  closed  windows 
and  doors — the  caution  of  the  city  still  clung  to  him 
—but  now  both  doors  and  windows  were  set  wide 
to  the  brilliant  autumn  day  and  a  curl  of  smoke  from 
a  lately  replenished  fire  cheerfully  rose  in  the  clear, 
dry  air. 

"Well,  I'll  be !"  and  then  Truedale  quietly 

slipped  to  the  rear  of  the  cabin  and  to  a  low,  sliding 
window  through  which  he  could  peer,  unobserved. 
One  glance  transfixed  him. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  furnishing  of  the  room  was  bare  and  plain 
— a  deal  table,  a  couple  of  wooden  chairs,  a 
broad  comfortable  couch,  a  cupboard  with 
some  nondescript  crockery,  and  a  good-sized  mirror 
in  the  space  between  the  front  door  and  the  window. 
Before  this  glass  a  strange  figure  was  walking  to  and 
fro,  enjoying  hugely  its  own  remarkable  reflection. 
Truedale's  bedraggled  bath  robe  hung  like  a  mantle 
from  the  shoulders  of  the  intruder — they  were  very 
straight,  slim  young  shoulders;  an  old  ridiculous 
fez — an  abomination  of  his  freshman  year,  kept  for 
sentimental  reasons — adorned  the  head  of  the  small 
stranger  and  only  partly  held  in  check  the  mass  of 
shadowy  hair  that  rippled  from  it  and  around  a 
mischievous  face. 

Surprise,  then  wonder,  swayed  Truedale.  When 
he  reached  the  wonder  stage,  thought  deserted  him. 
He  simply  looked  and  kept  on  wondering.  Through 
this  confusion,  words  presently  reached  him.  The 
masquerader  within  was  bowing  and  scraping 
comically,  and  in  a  low,  musical  voice  said: 

"How-de,  Mister  Outlander,  sir!  How-de?  I  saw 
your  smoke  a-curling  way  back  from  home,  sir,  and 
I've  come  a-visiting  'long  o'  you,  Mister  Outlander." 

17 


1 8  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

Another  sweeping  curtsey  reduced  Truedale  to 
helpless  mirth  and  he  fairly  shouted,  doubling  up 
as  he  did  so. 

The  effect  of  his  outburst  upon  the  young  person 
within  was  tremendous.  She  seemed  turned  to 
stone.  She  stared  at  the  face  in  the  window;  she 
turned  red  and  white — the  absurd  fez  dangling 
over  her  left  ear.  Then  she  emitted  what  seemed 
to  be  one  word,  so  lingeringly  sweet  was  the  drawl. 

"Godda'mighty!" 

Seeing  that  there  was  going  to  be  no  other  con- 
cession, Truedale  pulled  himself  together,  went  around 
to  the  front  door  and  knocked,  ceremoniously.  The 
girl  turned,  as  if  on  a  pivot,  but  spoke  no  word. 

She  had  the  most  wonderful  eyes — innocent  and 
pleading;  she  was  a  mere  child  and,  although  she 
looked  awed  now,  was  evidently  a  forward  young 
native  who  deserved  a  good  lesson.  Truedale  de- 
termined to  give  her  one! 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  he  said,  "I'll  come  in  and 
sit  down." 

This  he  did  while  the  big,  solemn  eyes  followed 
him  alertly. 

"And  now  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  tell  me 
what  you  mean  by — wearing  my  clothes?" 

Still  the  silence  and  the  blank  stare. 

"You  must  answer  my  questions!"  Truedale's 
voice  sounded  stern.  "I  suppose  you  didn't  expect 
me  back  so  soon?" 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  19 

The  deep  eyes  confirmed  this  by  the  drooping 
of  the  lids. 

"And  you  broke  in — what  for?'* 

No  answer. 

"Who  are  you?" 

Really  the  situation  was  becoming  unbearable, 
so  Truedale  changed  his  tactics.  He  would  play 
with  the  poor  little  thing  and  reassure  her. 

"Now  that  I  look  at  you  I  see  what  you  are. 
You're  not  a  human  at  all.  You're  a  spirit  of  some- 
thing or  other — probably  of  one  of  those  perky 
mountains  over  yonder.  The  White  Maid,  I  bet! 
You  had  to  don  my  clothes  in  order  to  materialize 
before  my  eyes  and  you  had  to  use  that  word  of  the 
hills — so  that  I  could  understand  you.  It's  quite 
plain  now  and  you  are  welcome  to  my — my  bath 
robe;  I  dare  say  that,  underneath  it,  you  are  decked 
out  in  filmy  clouds  and  vapours  and  mists.  Oh! 

come  now "  The  strange  eyes  were  filling — but 

not  overflowing! 

"I  was  only  joking.     Forgive  me.     Why " 

The  wretched  fez  fell  from  the  soft  hair — the 
bedraggled  robe  from  the  rigid  shoulders — and 
there,  garbed  in  a  rough  home-spun  gown,  a  little 
plaid  shawl  and  a  checked  apron,  stood — 

"It's  the  no-count,"  thought  Truedale.  Aloud 
he  said,  "Nella-Rose!" 

With  the  dropping  of  the  disguise  years  and 
dignity  were  added  to  the  girl  and  Truedale,  who 


20  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

was  always  at  his  worst  in  the  presence  of  strange 
young  women,  gazed  dazedly  at  the  one  before  him 
now. 

"Perhaps" — he  began  awkwardly — "you'll  sit 
down.  Please  do!"  He  drew  a  chair  toward  her. 
Nella-Rose  sank  into  it  and  leaned  her  bowed  head 
upon  her  arms,  which  she  folded  on  the  table.  Her 
shoulders  rose  and  fell  convulsively,  and  Truedale, 
looking  at  her,  became  hopelessly  wretched. 

"I'm  a  beast  and  nothing  less!"  he  admitted 
by  way  of  apology  and  excuse.  "I — I  wish  you 
could  forgive  me." 

Then  slowly  the  head  was  raised  and  to  True- 
dale's  further  consternation  he  saw  that  mirth,  not 
anguish,  had  caused  the  shaking  of  those  deceiving 
little  shoulders. 

"Oh!  I  see — you  are  laughing!"  He  tried  to 
be  indignant. 

"Yes." 

"At  what?" 

"  Everything — you ! " 

"Thank  you!"  Then,  like  a  response,  something 
heretofore  unknown  and  unsuspected  in  Truedale 
rose  and  overpowered  him.  His  shyness  and  awk- 
wardness melted  before  the  warmth  and  glow  of 
the  conquering  emotion.  He  got  up  and  sat  on 
the  corner  of  the  table  nearest  his  shabby  little  guest, 
and  looking  straight  into  her  bewitching  eyes  he 
joined  her  in  a  long,  resounding  laugh. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  21 

It  was  surrender,  pure  and  simple. 

"And  now,"  he  said  at  last,  "you  must  stay  and 
have  a  bite.  I  am  about  starved.  And  you?" 

The  girl  grew  sober. 

"I'm — I'm  always  hungry,"  she  admitted  softly. 

They  drew  the  table  close  to  the  roaring  fire, 
leaving  doors  and  windows  open  to  the  crisp,  sweet, 
morning  air. 

"We'll  have  a  party!"  Truedale  announced. 
"I'll  step  over  to  Jim's  cabin  and  bring  the  best  he's 
got." 

When  he  returned  Nella-Rose  had  placed  cups, 
saucers,  and  plates  on  the  table. 

"Do  you — often  have  parties?"  she  asked. 

"I  never  had  one  before.  I'll  have  them,  though, 
from  now  on  if — if  you  will  come!" 

Truedale  paused  with  his  arms  full  of  pitchers 
and  platters  of  food,  and  held  the  girl  with  his  admir- 
ing eyes. 

"And  you  will  let  me  come  and  see  you — you  and 
your  sister  and  your  father?  I  know  all  about  you. 
White  has  explained — everything.  He 

Nella-Rose  braced  herself  against  the  table  and 
quietly  and  definitely  outlined  their  future  relations. 

"No,  you  cannot  come  to  see  us-all.  You  don't 
know  Marg.  If  she  doesn't  find  things  out,  there 
won't  be  trouble;  when  she  does  find  things  out 
there's  goin'  t'  be  a  right  smart  lot  of  trouble  brew- 
ing!" 


22  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

This  was  said  with  such  comical  seriousness 
that  Truedale  laughed  again,  but  sobered  instantly 
when  he  recalled  the  incident  of  the  white  bantam 
which  Jim  had  so  vividly  portrayed. 

"But  you  see,"  he  replied,  "I  don't  want  to  let 
you  go  after  this  first  party,  and  never  see  you  again ! " 

The  girl  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  apparently 
dismissed  the  matter.  She  sat  down  and,  with  charm- 
ing abandon,  began  to  eat.  Presently  Truedale, 
amused  and  interested,  spoke  again: 

"It  would  be  very  unkind  of  you  not  to  let  me 
see  you." 

"I'm — thinking!"  Nella-Rose  drew  her  brows 
together  and  nibbled  a  bit  of  corn  bread  meditatively. 
Then — quite  suddenly: 

"I'm  coming  here!" 

"You — you  mean  that?"  Truedale  flushed. 

"Yes.     And  the  big  woods — you  walk  in  them?" 

"I  certainly  do." 

"Sometimes — I  am  in  the  big  woods." 

"Where — specially?"  Truedale  was  playing  this 
new  game  with  the  foolish  skill  of  the  novice. 

"There's  a  Hollow — where — "  (Nella-Rose  paused) 
"where  the  laurel  tangle  is  like  a  jungle — 

Truedale  broke  in:  "I  know  it!  There's  a  little 
stream  running  through  it,  and — trails." 

"Yes!"  Nella-Rose  leaned  back  and  showed  her 
white  teeth  alluringly. 

"I — I  should  not — permit  this!"     For  a  moment 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  23 

Truedale  broke  through  the  thin  ice  of  delight  that 
was  luring  him  to  unknown  danger  and  fell  upon 
the  solid  rock  of  conservatism. 

"Why?"  The  eyes,  so  tenderly  innocent,  con- 
fronted him  appealingly.  "There  are  nuts  there 
and — and  other  things!  You  are  just  teasing; 
you'll  let  me — show  you  the  way  about?" 

The  girl  was  all  child  now  and  made  Truedale 
ashamed  to  hold  her  to  any  absurd  course  that  his 
standards  acknowledged  but  that  hers  had  never 
conceived. 

"Of  course.  I'll  be  glad  to  have  you  for  a  guide. 
Jim  White  has  no  ideas  about  nuts  and  things — he 
goes  to  the  woods  to  kill  something;  he's  there  now. 
I  dare  say  there  are  other  things  in  the  mountains 
besides — prey?" 

Nella-Rose  nodded. 

"Let's  sit  by  the  fire!"  she  suddenly  said.  "I — 
I  want  to  tell  you — something,  and  then  I  must 

go." 

The  lack  of  shyness  and  reserve  might  so  easily 
have  become  boldness — but  they  did  not!  The  girl 
was  like  a  creature  of  the  wilds  which,  knowing  no 
reason  for  fear,  was  revelling  in  heretofore  unsus- 
pected enjoyment.  Truedale  pulled  the  couch  to 
the  hearth  for  Nella-Rose,  piled  the  pillows  on  one 
end  and  then  seated  himself  on  the  stump  of  a 
tree  which  served  as  a  settee. 

"Now,  then!"  he   said,  keeping  his  eyes   on   his 


24  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

breezy  little  guest.  "What  have  you  got  to  tell 
me — before  you  go?" 

"It's  something  that  happened — long  ago.  You 
will  not  laugh  if  I  tell  you?  You  laugh  right 
much." 

"I?  You  think  I  laugh  a  good  deal?  Good  Lord! 
Some  folk  think  I  don't  laugh  enough."  He  had 
his  friends  back  home  in  mind,  and  somehow  the 
memory  steadied  him  for  an  instant. 

"P'r'aps  they-all  don't  know  you  as  well  as  I  do." 
This  with  amusing  conviction. 

"Perhaps  they  don't."  Truedale  was  deadly 
solemn.  "But  go  on,  Nella-Rose.  I  promise  not 
to  laugh  now." 

"It  was  the  beginning  of — you!"  The  girl  turned 
her  eyes  to  the  fire — she  was  quaintly  demure. 
"At  first  when  I  saw  you  looking  in  that  window, 
yonder,  I  was  right  scared." 

Jim  White's  statement  that  Nella-Rose  wasn't 
more  than  half  real  seemed,  in  the  light  of  present 
happenings,  little  less  than  bald  fact. 

"It  was  the  way  you  looked — way  back  there  when 
I  was  ten  years  old.  I  had  run  away " 

"Are  you  always  running  away?"  asked  Truedale 
from  the  hollow  depths  of  unreality. 

"I  run  away  a  smart  lot.  You  have  to  if  you 
want  to — see  things  and  be  different." 

"And  you — you  want  to  be  different,  Nella-Rose  ? " 

"I — why,  can't  you  see? — I  am  different." 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  25 

"Of  course.  I  only  meant — do  you  like  to  be 
different." 

"I  have  to  like  it.     I  was  born  with  a  cawl.M 

"In  heaven's  name,  what's  that?" 

"Something  over  your  eyes,  and  when  they  take 
it  off  you  see  more,  and  farther,  than  any  one  else. 
You're  part  ha'nt." 

Truedale  wiped  his  forehead — the  room  was 
getting  hot,  but  the  heat  alone  was  not  responsible  for 
his  emotions;  he  was  being  carried  beyond  his  depth 
—beyond  himself — by  the  wild  fascination  of  the 
little  creature  before  him.  He  would  hardly  have 
been  surprised  had  a  draught  of  air  wafted  her  out 
of  the  window  like  a  bit  of  mountain  mist. 

"But  you  mustn't  interrupt  so  much!"  She 
turned  a  stern  face  upon  him.  "I  ran  away  that 
time  to  see  a — railroad  train!  One  of  the  niggers 
told  me  about  it — he  said  it  was  the  Bogy  Man. 
I  wanted  to  know,  so  I  went  to  the  station.  It's  a 
right  smart  way  down  and  I  had  to  sleep  one  night 
under  the  trees.  Don't  the  stars  look  starry  some- 
times?" 

The  interruption  made  Truedale  jump. 

"They  certainly  do,"  he  said,  looking  at  the  soft, 
dark  eyes  with  their  long  lashes. 

"I  wasn't  afraid — and  I  didn't  hurry.  It  was 
evening,  and  the  sun  just  a-going  down,  when  I  got 
to  the  station.  There  wasn't  any  one  about  so  I — 
I  ran  down  the  big  road  the  train  comes  on — to  meet 


26  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

it.  And  then"  (here  Nella-Rose  clasped  her  hands 
excitedly  and  her  breath  came  short),  "and  then  I 
saw  it  a-coming  and  a-coming.  The  big  fire-eye 
a-glaring  and  the  mighty  noise  a-snorting  and  I 
reckoned  it  was  old  Master  Satan  and  I  just — 
couldn't  move!" 

"Go  on!  go  on!"  Truedale  bent  close  to  her — she 
had  caught  him  in  the  mesh  of  her  dramatic  charm. 

"I  saw  it  a-coming,  and  set  on — on  devouring  o' 
me,  and  still  I  couldn't  stir.  Everything  was  grow- 
ing black  and  black  except  a  big  square  with  that 
monster  eye  a-glaring  into  the  soul  o'  me!" 

The  girl's  face  was  set — her  eyes  vacant  and  wild; 
suddenly  they  softened,  and  her  little  white  teeth 
showed  through  the  childish,  parted  lips. 

"Then  the  eye  went  away,  there  was  a  blackness  in 
the  square  place,  and  then  a  face  came — a  kind  face 
it  was — all  a-laughing  and  it — it  kept  going  farther 
and  farther  off  to  one  side  and  I  kept  a-following  and 
a-following  and  then — the  big  noise  went  rushing 
by  me,  and  there  I  was  right  safe  and  plump  up 
against  a  tree!" 

"Good  Lord!"     Again  Truedale  wiped  his  brow. 

"Since  then,"  Nella-Rose  relaxed,  "I  can  shut 
my  eyes  and  always  there  is  the  black  square  and 
sometimes — not  always,  but  sometimes — things 
come!" 

"The  face,  Nella-Rose?" 

"No,  I  can't  make  that  come.     But  things  I  want 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  27 

to,  do  and  have,  I  always  think,  when  I  see  things, 
that  I'm  going  to  do  a  big,  fine  thing  some  day. 
I  feel  upperty  and  then — poof!  off  go  the  pictures 
and  I  am  just — lil'  Nella-Rose  again!" 

A  comically  heavy  sigh  brought  Truedale  back 
to  earth. 

"But  the  face  you  saw  long  ago,"  Truedale  whis- 
pered, "was  it  my  face,  do  you  think?" 

Nella-Rose  paused — then  quietly: 

"I — reckon  it  was.  Yes,  I'm  mighty  sure  it  was 
your  face.  When  I  saw  it  at  that  window" — she 
pointed  across  the  room — "I  certainly  thought  my 
eyes  were  closed  and  that — it  had  come — the  kind, 
good  face  that  saved  me!"  A  sweet,  friendly  smile 
wreathed  the  girl's  lips  and  she  rose  with  rare  dignity 
and  held  out  her  thin,  delicate  hand: 

"Mister  Outlander,  we're  going  to  be  neighbours, 
aren't  we?" 

"Yes — neighbours!"  Truedale  took  the  hand  with 
a  distinct  sense  of  suffocation,  "but  why  do  you  call 
me  an  outlander?" 

"Because — you  are!  You're  not  of  our  mountains." 

"No,  I  wish  I  were!" 

"Wishing  can't  make  you.  You  are — or  you 
aren't." 

Truedale  noted  the  girl's  language.  Distorted 
and  crude  as  it  often  was,  it  was  never  positively 
illiterate.  This  surprised  him. 

"You — oh!  you're  not  going  yet!"     He  put  his 


28  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

hand  out,  for  the  definite  way  in  which  Nella-Rose 
turned  was  ominous.  Already  she  seemed  to  belong 
to  the  cabin  room — to  Truedale  himself.  Not  a 
suggestion  of  strangeness  clung  to  her.  It  was  as  if 
she  had  always  been  there  but  that  his  eyes  had  been 
holden. 

"I  must  go!" 

"Wait — oh!  Nella-Rose.  Let  me  walk  part  of 
the  way  with  you.  I — I  have  a  thousand  things  to 
say." 

But  she  was  gone  out  of  the  door,  down  the  path. 

Truedale  stood  and  looked  after  her  until  the  long 
shadows  reached  up  to  Lone  Dome's  sharpest  edge. 
White's  dogs  began  nosing  about,  suggesting  atten- 
tion to  affairs  nearer  at  hand.  Then  Truedale  sighed 
as  if  waking  from  a  dream.  He  performed  the  duties 
Jim  had  left  to  his  tender  mercy — the  feeding  of  the 
animals,  the  piling  up  of  wood.  Then  he  forced 
himself  to  take  a  long  walk.  He  ate  his  evening 
meal  late,  and  finally  sat  down  to  his  task  of  writing 
letters.  He  wrote  six  to  Brace  Kendall  and  tore 
them  up;  he  wrote  one  to  his  uncle  and  put  it  aside 
for  consideration  when  the  effect  of  his  day  dreams 
left  him  sane  enough  to  judge  it.  Finally  he  managed 
a  note  to  Dr.  McPherson  and  one  to  Lynda  Kendall. 

"I  think" — so  the  letter  to  Lynda  ran — "that 
I  will  work  regularly,  now,  on  the  play.  With  more 
blood  in  my  own  body  I  can  hope  to  put  more  into 
that.  I'm  going  to  get  it  out  to-morrow  and  begin  the 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  29 

infusion.  I  wish  you  were  here  to-night — to  see  the 
wonderful  effect  of  the  moon  on  the  mists — but 
there!  if  I  said  more  you  might  guess  where  I  am. 
When  I  come  back  I  shall  try  to  describe  it  and 
some  day  you  must  see  it.  Several  times  lately 
I  have  imagined  an  existence  here  with  one's  work 
and  enough  to  subsist  on.  No  worry,  no  nerve- 
racking,  and  always  the  tremendous  beauty  to  in- 
spire one!  Nothing  seems  wholly  real  here." 

Then  Trued  ale  put  down  his  pen.  Nella-Rose 
crowded  Lynda  Kendall  from  the  field  of  vision; 
later,  he  simply  signed  his  name  and  let  the  note  go 
with  that. 

As  for  Nella-Rose,  as  soon  as  she  left  Truedale, 
her  mind  turned  to  sterner  matters  close  at  hand. 
She  became  aware  before  long  of  some  one  near  by. 
The  person,  whoever  it  was,  seemed  determined  to 
remain  hidden  but  for  that  very  reason  it  called  out 
all  the  girl's  cunning  and  cleverness.  It  might  be — 
Burke  Lawson!  With  this  thought  Nella-Rose 
gasped  a  little.  Then,  it  might  be  Marg;  and  here 
the  dark  eyes  grew  hard — the  lips  almost  cruel!  She 
got  down  upon  her  knees  and  crawled  like  a  veritable 
little  animal  of  the  wilds.  Keeping  close  to  the 
ground,  she  advanced  to  where  the  trail  from  Lone 
Dome  met  the  broader  one,  and  there,  standing  un- 
decided and  bewildered,  was  a  tall,  fair  girl. 

Nella-Rose  sprang  to  her  feet,  her  eyes  ablaze. 

"Marg!     What  you — hounding  me  for?" 


30  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"Nella-Rose,  where  you  been?" 

"What's  that  to  you?" 

"You've  been  up  to  Devil-may-come  Hollow!" 

"Have  I?  Let  me  pass,  Marg.  Have  your 
mully-grubs,  if  you  please;  I'm  going  home." 

As  Nella-Rose  tried  to  pass,  Marg  caught  her  by 
the  arm. 

"Burke's  back!"  she  whispered,  "he's  hiding  up 
to  Devil-may-come!  He's  been  seen  and  you  know 
it!" 

"What  if  I  do?"  Nella-Rose  never  ignored  a 
possible  escape  for  the  future. 

"You've  been  up  there — to  meet  him.  You 
ought  to  be  licked.  If  you  don't  let  him  alone — 
let  him  and  me  alone — I'll  turn  Jed  on  him,  I  will; 
I  swear  it!" 

"What  is  he — to  you!"  Nella-Rose  confronted 
her  sister  squarely.  Blue  eyes — bold,  cold  blue  they 
were — looked  into  dark  ones  even  now  so  soft  and 
winning  that  it  was  difficult  to  resist  them. 

"If  you  let  him  alone,  he'll  be  everything  to  me!" 
Marg  blurted  out.  "What  do  you  want  of  him, 
Nella-Rose? — of  him  or  any  other  man?  But  if  you 
must  have  a  sweetheart,  pick  and  choose  and  let  me 
have  my  day." 

The  rough  appeal  struck  almost  brutally  on  Nella- 
Rose's  ears.  She  was  as  un-moral,  perhaps,  as  Marg, 
but  she  was  more  discriminating. 

"I'm  mighty  tired  of  cleaning  and  cooking  for — 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  31 

for  father  and  you!"  Marg  tossed  her  head  toward 
Lone  Dome.  "Father's  mostly  always  drunk  these 
days  and  you — what  do  you  care  what  becomes  of 
me?  Leave  me  to  get  a  man  of  my  own  and  then 
I'll  be  human.  I've  been — killing  the  hog  to-day!" 
Marg  suddenly  and  irrelevantly  burst  out;  "I — I 
shall  never  do  it  again.  We'll  starve  first!" 

"Why  didn't  father?"  Nella-Rose  said,  softly. 

"Father?  Huh!  he  couldn't  have  held  the  knife. 
He  went  for  the  jug — and  got  it  full!  No,  I  had  to 
do  it,  but  it's  the  last  time.  Nella-Rose,  tell  me 
where  Burke  is  hidden — tell  me!  Leave  me  free 
to — to  win  him;  let  me  have  my  chance!" 

"And  then  who'll  kill  the  pig?"  Nella-Rose  shud- 
dered. 

"  Who  cares  ? "  Marg  flung  back. 

rrNo!  Find  him  if  you  can.  Fair  play — no 
favours;  what  I  find  is  open  to  you!"  Nella-Rose 
laughed  impishly  and,  darting  past  her  sister,  ran 
down  the  path. 

Marg  stood  and  watched  her  with  bafHed  rage 
and  hate.  For  a  moment  she  almost  decided  to 
take  her  chances  and  seek  Burke  Lawson  in  the 
distant  Hollow.  But  night  was  coming — the  black, 
drear  night  of  the  low  places.  Marg  was  desperate, 
but  a  primitive  conservatism  held  her.  Not  for  all 
she  hoped  to  gain  would  she  brave  Burke  Lawson 
alone  in  the  secret  places  of  Devil-may-come  Hol- 
low! So  she  followed  after  Nella-Rose  and  reached 


32  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

home  while  her  sister  was  preparing  the  evening 
meal. 

Peter  Greyson,  the  father,  sat  huddled  in  a  big 
chair  by  the  fire.  He  had  arrived  at  that  stage  of 
returning  consciousness  when  he  felt  that  it  was 
incumbent  upon  him  to  explain  himself.  He  had 
been  a  handsome  man,  of  the  dashing  cavalry  type 
and  he  still  bore  traces  of  past  glory.  In  his  worst 
moments  he  never  swore  before  ladies,  and  in  his 
best  he  remembered  what  was  due  them  and  up- 
held their  honour  and  position  with  fervour. 

"LiP  Nella-Rose,"  he  was  saying  as  Marg  paused 
outside  the  door  in  the  dark,  "why  don't  you  marry 
Burke  Lawson  and  settle  down  here  with  me?" 

"He  hasn't  asked  me,  father." 

"He  isn't  in  any  position  now  to  pick  and  choose" 
— this  between  hiccoughs  and  yawns — "I  saw  him 
early  this  morning;  I  know  his  back  anywhere.  I'd 
just  met  old  Jim  White.  I  reckon  Burke  was  cal- 
culating to  shoot  Jim,  but  my  coming  upset  his 
plans.  Shooting  a  sheriff  ain't  safe  business." 
What  Greyson  really  had  seen  was  Truedale's  re- 
treat after  parting  company  with  Jim,  but  not 
knowing  of  Truedale's  existence  he  jumped  to  the 
conclusion  which  to  his  fuddled  wits  seemed  probable, 
and  had  so  informed  Marg  upon  his  return. 

"I  tell  yo',  Nella-Rose,"  he  ran  on,  "yo*  better 
marry  Burke  and  tame  him.  There  ain't  nothing 
as  tames  a  man  like  layin'  responsibilities  on  him." 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  33 

"Come,  father,  let  me  help  you  to  the  table. 
I  don't  want  to  talk  about  Burke.  I  don't  believe 
he's  back."  She  steadied  the  rolling  form  to  the 
head  of  the  table. 

"I  tell  yo',  chile,  I  saw  Burke's  back;  don't  yo' 
reckon  I  know  Lawson  when  I  see  him,  back  or 
front?  Don't  yo'  want  ter  marry  Lawson,  Nella- 
Rose?" 

"No,  I  wouldn't  have  him  if  he  asked  me.  It 
would  be  like  marrying  a  tree  that  the  freshet  was 
rolling  about.  I'm  not  going  to  seek  and  hide  with 
any  man." 

"Why  don't  yo'  let  Marg  have  'im  then?  She'd 
be  a  right  smart  responsibility." 

"She  can  have  him  and  welcome,  if  she  can  find 
him!"  Then,  hearing  her  sister  outside,  she  called: 

"Come  in,  Marg.  Shut  out  the  cold  and  the 
dark.  What's  the  use  of  acting  like  a  little  old 
hateful?" 

Marg  slouched  in;  there  was  no  other  word  to 
describe  her  indifferent  and  contemptuous  air. 

"He's  coming  around?"  she  asked,  nodding  at 
her  father. 

"Yes — he's  come,"  Nella-Rose  admitted. 

"All  right,  then,  I'm  going  to  tell  him  something!" 
She  walked  over  to  her  father  and  stood  before  him, 
looking  him  steadily  in  the  eyes. 

"I — I  killed  the  hog  to-day;"  she  spoke  sharply, 
slowly,  as  to  a  dense  child.  Peter  Greyson  started. 


34  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"You— you— did  that?" 

"Yes.  While  you  were  off — getting  drunk,  and 
while  Nella-Rose  was  traipsing  back  there  in  the 
Hollow  I  killed  the  hog;  but  I'll  never  do  it  again. 
It  sickened  the  soul  of  me.  I'm  as  good  as  Nella- 
Rose — just  as  good.  If  you  can't  do  your  part, 
father,  and  she  wont  do  hers,  that's  no  reason  for 
me  being  benastied  with  such  work  as  I  did  to-day. 
You  hear  me?" 

"Sure  I  hear  you,  Marg,  and  I'm  plumb  humiliated 
that — that  I  let  you.  It — it  sha'n't  happen  again. 
I'll  keep  a  smart  watch  next  year.  A  gentleman 
can't  say  more  to  his  daughter  than  that — can  he?" 

"Saying  is  all  very  well — it's  the  doing.'"  Marg 
was  adamant.  "I'm  going  to  look  out  for  myself 
from  now  on.  You  and  Nella-Rose  will  find  out." 

"What's  come  to  you,  Marg?"  Peter  looked  con- 
cerned. 

"Something  that  hasn't  ever  come  before,"  Marg 
replied,  keeping  her  eyes  on  Nella-Rose.  "  There 
be  times  when  you  have  to  take  your  life  by  the 
throat  and  strangle  it  until  it  falls  into  shape.  I'm 
gripping  mine  now." 

"It's  the  killing  of  that  hog!"  groaned  Peter. 
"It's  stirred  you,  and  I  can't  blame  you.  Killing 
ain't  for  a  lady;  but  Lord!  what  a  man  you'd  ha' 
made,  Marg!" 

"But  I  ain't!"  Marg  broke  in  a  bit  wildly,  "and 
other  things  are  not  for — for  women  to  do  and  bear. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  35 

I'm  through.  It's  Nella-Rose  and  me  to  share  and 
share  alike,  or " 

But  there  was  nothing  more  to  say — the  pause 
was  eloquent.  The  three  ate  in  silence  for  some 
moments  and  then  talked  of  trivial  things. 
Peter  Greyson  went  early  to  bed  and  the  sisters 
washed  the  dishes,  sharing  equally.  They  did 
the  out-of-door  duties  of  caring  for  the  scanty  live 
stock,  and  at  last  Nella-Rose  went  to  her  tiny  room 
under  the  eaves,  while  Marg  lay  down  upon  the 
living-room  couch. 

When  everything  was  at  rest  once  more  Nella- 
Rose  stole  to  the  low  window  of  her  chamber  and, 
kneeling,  looked  forth  at  the  peaceful  moonlit 
scene.  How  still  and  white  it  was  and  how  safe 
and  strong  the  high  hills  looked!  What  had  hap- 
pened? Why,  nothing  could  happen  and  yet — and 
yet—  Then  Nella-Rose  closed  her  eyes  and 
waited.  With  all  her  might  she  tried  to  force  the 
"good,  kind  face"  to  materialize,  but  to  no  purpose. 
Suddenly  an  owl  hooted  hideously  and,  like  a  guilty 
thing,  the  girl  by  the  window  crept  back  to  bed. 

Owls  were  very  wise  and  they  could  see  things 
in  the  dark  places  with  their  wide-open  eyes!  Just 
then  Nella-Rose  could  not  have  borne  any  investi- 
gation of  her  throbbing  heart. 


CHAPTER  III 

E[DA  KENDALL  closed  her  desk  and 
wheeled  about  in  her  chair  with  a  perplexed 
expression  on  her  strong,  handsome  face. 
Generally  speaking,  she  went  her  way  with  courage 
and  conviction,  but  since  Conning  Truedale's  break- 
down, an  element  in  her  had  arisen  that  demanded 
recognition  and  she  had  yet  to  learn  how  to  con- 
trol it  and  insist  upon  its  subjection. 

Her  life  had  been  a  simple  one  on  the  whole, 
but  one  requiring  from  early  girlhood  the  constant 
use  of  her  faculties.  Whatever  help  she  had  had 
was  gained  from  the  dependence  of  others  upon 
her,  not  hers  upon  them.  She  was  so  strong  and 
sweet-souled  that  to  give  was  a  joy,  it  was  a  joy  too, 
for  them  that  received.  That  she  was  ever  tired 
and  longed  for  strong  arms  to  uphold  her  rarely 
occurred  to  any  one  except,  perhaps,  William  True- 
dale,  the  invalid  uncle  of  Conning. 

At  this  juncture  of  Lynda's  career,  she  shrank 
from  William  Truedale  as  she  never  had  before. 
Had  Conning  died,  she  knew  she  would  never  have 
seen  the  old  man  again.  She  believed  that  his  in- 
capacity for  understanding  Conning — his  rigid, 
unfeeling  dealing  with  him — had  been  the  prime 

36 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  37 

factor  in  the  physical  breakdown  of  the  younger 
man.  All  along  she  had  hoped  and  believed  that 
her  hold  upon  old  William  Truedale  would,  in  the 
final  reckoning,  bring  good  results;  for  that  reason, 
and  a  secret  one  that  no  one  suspected,  she  kept  to 
her  course.  She  paid  regular  visits  to  the  old  man 
— made  him  dependent  upon  her,  though  he  never 
permitted  her  to  suspect  this.  Always  her  purpose 
had  centred  upon  Con,  who  had,  at  first,  appealed 
to  her  loyalty  and  justice,  but  of  late  to  something 
much  more  personal  and  tender. 

The  day's  work  was  done  and  the  workshop,  in 
which  the  girl  sat,  was  beginning  to  look  shadowy 
in  the  far  corners  where  evidences  of  her  profession 
cluttered  the  dim  spaces.  She  was  an  interior  dec- 
orator, but  of  such  an  original  and  unique  kind 
that  her  brother  explained  her  as  a  "Spiritual  and 
Physical  Interpreter."  She  had  learned  her  trade, 
but  she  had  embellished  it  and  permitted  it  to 
develop  as  she  herself  had  grown  and  expanded. 

Lynda  looked  now  at  her  wrist-watch;  it  was 
four-thirty.  The  last  mail  delivery  had  brought  a 
short  but  inspiring  note  from  Con — per  Dr.  Mc- 
Pherson. 

"I've  got  my  grip  again,  Lynda!  The  day  brings 
appetite  and  strength;  the  night,  sleep!  I  wonder 
whether  you  know  what  that  means?  I  begin  to 
believe  I  am  reverting  to  type,  as  McPherson  would 
say,  and  I'm  intensely  interested  in  finding  out — what 


38  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

type  ?  Whenever  I  think  of  study,  I  have  an  attack 
of  mental  indigestion.  There  is  only  one  fellow 
creature  to  share  my  desolation  but  I  am  never 
lonely — never  lacking  employment.  I'm  busy  to 
the  verge  of  exhaustion  in  doing  nothing  and  getting 
well!" 

Lynda  smiled.  "So  he's  not  going  to  die!"  she 
murmured;  "there's  no  use  in  punishing  Uncle 
William  any  longer.  I'll  go  up  and  have  dinner  with 
him!" 

The  decision  made,  and  Conning  for  the  moment 
relegated  to  second  place,  Lynda  rose  and  smiled 
relievedly.  Then  her  eyes  fell  upon  her  mother's 
photograph  which  stood  upon  her  desk. 

"I'm  going,  dear,"  she  confided — they  were  very 
close,  that  dead  mother  and  the  live,  vital  daughter 
— "I  haven't  forgotten." 

The  past,  like  the  atmosphere  of  the  room,  closed 
in  about  the  girl.  She  was  strangely  cheerful  and 
uplifted;  a  consciousness  of  approval  soothed  and 
comforted  her  and  she  recalled,  as  she  had  not  for 
many  a  day,  the  night  of  her  mother's  death — the 
night  when  she,  a  girl  of  seventeen,  had  had  the 
burden  of  a  mother's  confession  laid  upon  her  young 
heart. 

"Lynda — are  you  there,  dear?" 

It  had  been  a  frequent,  pathetic  question  during 
the  month  of  illness.  Lynda  had  been  summoned 
from  school.  Brace  was  still  at  his  studies. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  39 

"Yes,  mother,  right  here!" 

"You  are  always — right  here!  Lyn,  once  I 
thought  I  could  not  stand  it,  and  I  was  going  to  run 
away — going  in  the  night.  As  I  passed  your  door 
you  awoke  and  asked  for  a  drink  of  water.  I  gave 
it,  trembling  lest  you  might  notice  my  hat  and  coat; 
but  you  did  not — you  only  said:  'What  would  I  do 
if  I  woke  up  some  night  and  didn't  have  a  mother?' 
Lyn,  dear,  I  went  back  and — stayed!" 

Lynda  had  thought  her  mother's  mind  wandering 
so  she  patted  the  seeking  hands  and  murmured  gently 
to  her.  Then,  suddenly: 

"Lyn,  when  I  married  your  father  I  thought  I 
loved  him — but  I  loved  another!  I've  done  the  best 
I  could  for  you  all;  I  never  let  any  one  know;  I 
dared  not  give  a  sign,  but  I  want  you — by  and  by — 
to  go  to — William  Truedale!  You  need  not  explain 
—just  go;  you  will  be  my  gift  to  him — my  last  and 
only  gift." 

Startled  and  horrified,  Lynda  had  listened,  under- 
stood, and  grown  old  while  her  mother  spoke.  .  .  . 

Then  came  the  night  when  she  awoke — and  found 
no  mother!  She  was  never  the  same.  She  returned 
to  school  but  gave  up  the  idea  of  going  to  college. 
After  her  graduation  she  made  a  home  for  the 
father  who  now — in  the  light  of  her  secret  knowledge 
— she  comprehended  for  the  first  time.  All  her 
life  she  had  wondered  about  him.  Wondered 
why  she  and  Brace  had  not  loved  and  honoured 


40  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

him  as  they  had  their  mother.  His  weakness,  his 
superficiality,  had  been  dominated  by  the  wife 
who,  having  accepted  her  lot,  carried  her  burden 
proudly  to  the  end! 

Brace  went  to  college  and,  during  his  last  year 
there,  his  father  died;  then,  confronting  a  future 
rich  in  debts  but  little  else,  he  and  Lynda  conse- 
quently turned  their  education  to  account  and  were 
soon  self-supporting,  full  of  hope  and  the  young  joy 
of  life. 

Lynda — her  mother's  secret  buried  deep  in  her 
loyal,  tender  heart — began  soon  after  her  return  from 
school  to  cultivate  old  William  Truedale,  much  to 
that  crabbed  gentleman's  surprise  and  apparent  con- 
fusion. There  was  some  excuse  for  the  sudden 
friendship,  for  Brace  during  preparatory  school  and 
college  had  formed  a  deep  and  sincere  attachment 
for  Conning  Truedale  and  at  vacation  time  the  two 
boys  and  Lynda  were  much  together.  To  be  sure 
the  visiting  was  largely  one-sided,  as  the  gloomy 
house  of  the  elder  Truedale  offered  small  inducement 
for  sociability;  but  Lynda  managed  to  wedge  her 
way  into  the  loneliness  and  dreariness  and  eventually 
for  reasons  best  known  to  herself  became  the  one 
bright  thing  in  the  old  man's  existence. 

And  so  the  years  had  drifted  on.  Besides  Lynda's 
determination  to  prove  herself  as  her  mother  had 
directed,  she  soon  decided  to  set  matters  straight 
between  the  uncle  and  the  nephew.  To  her  ardent 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  41 

young  soul,  fired  with  ambition  and  desire  for  justice, 
it  was  little  less  than  criminal  that  William  Truedale, 
crippled  and  confined  to  his  chair — for  he  had  become 
an  invalid  soon  after  Lynda's  mother's  marriage — 
should  misunderstand  and  cruelly  misjudge  the 
nephew  who,  brilliantly,  but  under  tremendous 
strain,  was  winning  his  way  through  college  on  a 
pittance  that  made  outside  labour  necessary  in  order 
to  get  through.  She  could  not  understand  every- 
thing, but  her  mother's  secret,  her  growing  fondness 
for  the  old  man,  her  intense  interest  in  Conning, 
all  held  her  to  her  purpose.  She,  single-handed, 
would  right  the  wrong  and  save  them  all  alive! 

Then  came  Conning's  breakdown  and  the  possi- 
bility of  his  death  or  permanent  disability.  The 
shock  to  all  the  golden  hopes  was  severe  and  it 
brought  bitterness  and  resentment  with  it. 

Something  deep  and  passionate  had  entered  into 
Lynda's  relations  with  Conning  Truedale.  For 
him,  though  no  one  suspected  it,  she  had  broken  her 
engagement  to  John  Morrell — an  engagement  into 
which  she  had  drifted  as  so  many  girls  do,  at  the 
age  when  thought  has  small  part  in  primal  instinct. 
But  Conning  had  not  died;  he  was  getting  well,  off 
in  his  hidden  place,  and  so,  standing  in  the  dim 
workshop,  Lynda  kissed  her  mother's  picture  and 
began  humming  a  glad  little  tune. 

"I'll  go  and  have  dinner  with  Uncle  William!" 
she  said — the  words  fitting  into  the  tune — "we'll 


42  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

make  it  up!  It  will  be  all  right."  And  so  she  set 
forth. 

William  Truedale  lived  on  a  shabby-genteel  side 
street  of  a  neighbourhood  that  had  started  out  to  be 
fashionable  but  had  been  defeated  in  its  ambitions. 
It  had  never  lost  character,  but  it  certainly  had  lost 
lustre.  The  houses  themselves  were  well  built  and 
sternly  correct.  William  Truedale's  was  the  best 
in  the  block  and  it  stood  with  a  vacant  lot  on  either 
side  of  it.  The  detachment  gave  it  dignity  and  se- 
clusion. 

There  had  been  a  time  when  Truedale  hoped  that 
the  woman  he  loved  would  choose  and  place  furniture 
and  hangings  to  her  taste  and  his,  but  when  that 
hope  failed  and  sickness  fell  upon  him,  he  ordered 
only  such  rooms  put  in  order  as  were  necessary  for 
his  restricted  life.  The  library  on  the  first  floor 
was  a  storehouse  of  splendid  books  and  austere  lux- 
ury; beyond  it  were  bath  and  bedroom,  both  fitted 
out  perfectly.  The  long,  wide  hall  leading  to  these 
apartments  was  as  empty  and  bare  as  when  carpen- 
ter and  painter  left  it.  Two  servants — husband  and 
wife — served  William  Truedale,  and  rarely  com- 
mented upon  anything  concerning  him  or  their  re- 
lations to  him.  They  probably  had  rooms  for  them- 
selves comfortably  furnished,  but  in  all  the  years 
Lynda  Kendall  had  never  been  anywhere  in  the 
house  except  in  the  rooms  devoted  to  her  old  friend's 
use.  Sometimes  she  had  wondered  how  Con  fared, 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  43 

but  nothing  was  ever  said  on  the  subject  and  she  and 
Brace  had  been,  in  their  visiting,  limited  to  the  down- 
stair rooms. 

When  Lynda  was  ushered  now  into  the  library 
from  the  cold,  outer  hall  it  was  like  finding  comfort 
and  luxury  in  the  midst  of  desolation.  The  opening 
door  had  not  roused  the  man  by  the  great  open  fire. 
He  seemed  lost  in  a  gloomy  revery  and  Lynda  had 
time  to  note,  unobserved,  the  tragic,  pain-racked 
face  and  the  pitifully  thin  outlines  of  the  figure 
stretched  on  the  invalid  chair  and  covered  by  a  rug 
of  rare  silver  fox. 

There  were  birds  in  gilded  cages  by  the  large  south 
window — mute  little  mites  they  were;  they  rarely 
if  ever  sang  but  they  were  alive!  There  were  plants, 
too,  luxuriously  growing  in  pots  and  boxes — but  not  a 
flower  on  one!  They  existed,  not  joyously,  but 
persistently.  A  Russian  hound,  white  as  snow,  lay 
before  the  fire;  his  soft,  mournful  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  Lynda,  but  he  did  not  stir  or  announce  the 
intrusion.  A  cat  and  two  kittens,  also  white,  were 
rolled  like  snowballs  on  a  crimson  cushion  near  the 
hearth;  Lynda  wondered  whether  they  ever  played. 
Alone,  like  a  dead  thing  amid  the  still  life,  William 
Truedale,  helpless — death  ever  creeping  nearer 
and  nearer  to  his  bitter  heart — passed  his  weary 
days. 

As  she  stood,  watching  and  waiting,  Lynda  Ken- 
dall's eyes  filled  with  quick  tears.  The  weeks  of  her 


44  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

absence  had  emphasized  every  tragic  detail  of  the 
room  and  the  man.  He  had  probably  missed  her 
terribly  from  his  bare  life,  but  he  had  made  no  sign, 
given  no  call. 

"Uncle  William!" 

Truedale  turned  his  head  and  fixed  his  deep-sunk, 
brilliant  eyes  upon  her. 

"Oh!  So  you've  thought  better  of  it?"  was  all 
that  he  said. 

"  Yes,  I've  thought  better  of  it.  Will  you  let  me 
stay  to  dinner?" 

"Take  off  your  wraps.  There  now!  draw  up  the 
ottoman;  so  long  as  you  have  a  spine,  rely  upon  it. 
Never  lounge  if  you  can  help  it." 

Lynda  drew  the  low,  velvet-covered  stool  near 
the  couch-chair;  the  hound  raised  his  sharp,  beauti- 
ful head  and  nestled  against  her  knee.  Truedale 
watched  it — animals  never  came  to  him  unless  com- 
manded— why  did  they  go  to  Lynda?  Probably 
for  the  same  reason  that  he  clung  to  her,  watched  for 
her  and  feared,  with  sickening  fear,  that  she  might 
never  come  again! 

"I  suppose,  since  Con's  death  isn't  on  my  head, 
you  felt  that  you  could  forgive  me,  eh  ? " 

"Well,  something  like  that,  Uncle  William." 

"What  business  is  it  of  yours  what  I  do  with  my 
money — or  my  nephew?" 

These  two  never  approached  each  other  by  con- 
ventional lines.  Their  absences  were  periods  in 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  45 

which  to  store  vital  topics  and  questions — their 
meetings  were  a  series  of  explosive  outbursts. 

"None  of  my  business,  Uncle  William,  but  if  I 
could  not  approve,  why— 

"Approve!  Huh!  Who  are  you  that  you  should 
judge,  approve,  or  disapprove  your  elders?" 

There  was  no  answer  to  this.  Lynda  wanted  to 
laugh,  but  feared  she  might  cry.  The  hard,  indig- 
nant words  belied  the  quivering  gladness  of  the  voice 
that  greeted  her  in  every  tone  with  its  relief  and 
surrender. 

"I've  got  a  good  deal  to  say  to  you,  girl.  It 
is  well  you  came  to-day — you  might  otherwise  have 
been  too  late.  I'm  planning  a  long  journey." 

Lynda  started. 

"A — long  journey?"  she  said.  Through  the  past 
years,  since  the  dread  disease  had  attacked  True- 
dale,  his  travelling  had  been  confined  to  passing 
to  and  from  bedchamber  and  library  in  the  wheel- 
chair. 

"You — you  think  I  jest?"  There  was  a  grim 
humour  in  the  burning  eyes. 

"I  do  not  know." 

"Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you.  I  am  quite  serious. 
While  I  have  been  exiled  from  your  attentions- 
chained  to  this  rock"  (he  struck  the  arms  of  the  chair 
like  a  passionate  child),  "I  have  reached  a  con- 
clusion I  have  always  contemplated,  more  or  less. 
Now  that  I  have  recognized  that  the  time  will  un- 


46  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

doubtedly  come  when  you,  Con — the  lot  of  you — 
will  clear  out,  I  have  decided  to  prove  to  you  all 
that  I  am  not  quite  the  dependant  you  think  me." 
"Why — what  can  you  mean,  Uncle  William?" 
This  was  a  new  phase  and  Lynda  bent  across  the 
dog  at  her  knee  and  put  her  hand  on  the  arm  of  the 
chair.     She  was  frightened,  aroused.     Truedale  saw 
this  and  laughed  a  dry,  mirthless  laugh. 

"Oh!  a  chair  that  can  roll  the  length  of  this  house 
can  roll  the  distance  I  desire  to  go.  Money  can 
pay  for  anything — anything!  Thank  God,  I  have 
money,  plenty  of  it.  It  means  power — even  to 
such  a  thing  as  I  am.  Power,  Lynda,  power!  It 
can  snarl  and  unsnarl  lives;  it  can  buy  favour  and 
cause  terror.  Think  what  I  would  have  been  with- 
out it  all  these  years.  Think!  Why,  I  have  bar- 
gained with  it;  crushed  with  it;  threatened  and 
beckoned  with  it — now  I  am  going  to  play  with  it! 
I'm  going  to  surprise  every  one  and  have  a  gala 
time  myself.  I'm  going  to  set  things  spinning  and 
then  I'm  going  on  a  journey.  It's  queer"  (the  sneer- 
ing voice  fell  to  a  murmur),  "all  my  prison-years 
I've  thought  of  this  and  planned  it;  the  doing  of  it 
seems  quite  the  simplest  part.  I  wonder  now  why 
I  have  kept  behind  the  bars  when,  by  a  little  exertion 
—a  little  indifference  to  opinion — I  might  have 
broadened  my  horizon.  But  good  Lord!  I  haven't 
wasted  time.  I've  studied  every  detail;  nothing 
has  escaped  me.  This"  (he  touched  his  head — 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST  47 

a  fine,  almost  noble  head,  covered  by  a  wealth  of 
white  hair),  "this  has  been  doing  double  duty  while 
these"  (he  pointed  to  his  useless  legs)  "have  refused 
to  play  their  part.  While  I  felt  conscientiously 
responsible,  I  stuck  to  my  job;  but  a  man  has  a 
right  to  a  little  freedom  of  his  own!" 

Lynda  drew  so  close  that  her  stool  touched  the 
chair.  She  bent  her  cheek  upon  the  shrivelled 
hand  resting  upon  the  arm.  The  excitement  and 
feverish  banter  of  Truedale  affected  her  painfully. 
She  reproached  herself  bitterly  for  having  left  him 
to  the  mercy  of  his  loneliness  and  imagination.  Her 
interest  in,  her  resentment  for,  Conning  faded  be- 
fore the  pitiful  display  of  feeling  expressed  in  every 
tone  and  word  of  Truedale. 

The  touch  of  the  warm  cheek  against  his  hand 
stirred  the  man.  His  eyes  softened,  his  face  twitched 
and,  because  the  young  eyes  were  hidden,  he  per- 
mitted his  gaze  to  rest  reverently  upon  the  bowed 
head.  She  was  the  only  thing  on  earth  he  loved — 
the  only  thing  that  cut  through  his  crust  of  hard- 
ness and  despair  and  made  him  human.  Then, 
from  out  the  unexpected,  he  asked: 

"Lynda,  when  did  you  break  your  engagement  to 
John  Morrell?" 

The  girl  started,  but  she  did  not  change  her 
position.  She  never  lied  or  prevaricated  to  True- 
dale — she  might  keep  her  own  counsel,  but  when 
she  spoke  it  was  simple  truth. 


48  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"About  six  months  ago." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me?" 

"There  was  nothing  to  tell,  Uncle  William." 

"There  was  the  fact,  wasn't  there?" 

"Oh!  yes,  the  fact." 

"Why  did  you  do  it?" 

"That — is — a  long  story."  Lynda  looked  up, 
now,  and  smiled  the  rare  smile  that  only  the  stricken 
man  understood.  Appeal,  confusion,  and  detach- 
ment marked  it.  She  longed,  helplessly,  for  sym- 
pathy and  understanding. 

"Well,  long  stories  are  welcome  enough  here, 
child;  especially  after  the  dearth  of  them.  Ring 
the  bell;  let's  have  dinner.  Pull  down  the  shades 
and"  (Truedale  gave  a  wide  gesture)  "put  the  live 
stock  out!  An  early  meal,  a  long  evening — what 
better  could  we  add  than  a  couple  of  long  stories  ?" 

In  the  doing  of  what  Truedale  commanded,  Lynda 
found  a  certain  relief.  These  visits  were  like  grim 
plays,  to  be  sure,  but  they  were  also  sacred  duties. 
This  one,  after  the  lapse  of  time  filled  with  new  and 
strange  emotions,  was  a  bit  grimmer  than  usual, 
but  it  had  the  effect  of  a  tonic  upon  the  ragged 
nerves  of  the  two  actors. 

The  round  table  was  set  by  the  fire — it  was 
the  manservant  who  attended  now;  silver  and  glass 
and  linen  were  perfect,  and  the  simple  fare  carefully 
chosen  and  prepared. 

Truedale  was  never  so  much  at  his  ease  as  when 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  49 

he  presided  at  these  small  dinners.  He  ate  little; 
he  chose  the  rarest  bits  for  his  guest;  he  talked 
lightly — sometimes  delightfully.  At  such  moments 
Lynda  realized  what  he  must  have  been  before  love 
and  health  failed  him. 

To-night — shut  away  from  all  else,  the  strain  of 
the  past  weeks  ignored,  the  long  stories  deliberately 
pushed  aside— Truedale  spoke  of  the  books  he  had 
been  reading;  Lynda,  of  her  work. 

"I  have  two  wonderful  houses  to  do,"  she  said, 
poising  a  morsel  of  food  gracefully.  "One  is  for  a 
couple  recently  made  rich;  they  do  not  dare  to 
move  for  fear  of  going  wrong.  I  have  that  place 
from  garret  to  cellar.  It's  an  awful  responsibility — 
but  lots  of  fun!" 

"It  must  be.  Spending  other  people's  money 
and  making  them  as  good  as  new  at  the  same  time, 
must  be  rare  sport.  And  the  other  contract?" 

"Oh!  that  is  another  matter."  Lynda  leaned 
back  and  laughed.  "I'm  toning  up  an  old  house. 
Putting  false  fronts  on,  a  bit  of  rouge,  filling  in 
wrinkles;  in  short,  giving  a  side-tracked  old  lady 
something  to  interest  her.  She  doesn't  know  it, 
but  I'm  letting  her  do  the  work,  and  she's  very 
happy.  She  has  a  kind  of  rusty  good  taste.  I'm 
polishing  it  without  hurting  her.  The  living  room! 
Why,  Uncle  William,  it  is  a  picture.  It  is  a  tender 
dream  come  true." 

"And  you  are  charging  for  that,  you  pirate?" 


50  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"I  do  not  have  to.  The  dear  soul  is  so  grateful 
that  I'm  forced  to  refuse  favours." 

"Lynda,  ring  for  Thomas."  Truedale  drew  his 
brows  close.  "I  think  I'll — I'll  smoke.  It  may  help 
me  to  sleep  after  the  long  stories  and — when  I  am 
alone."  He  rarely  indulged  in  this  way — tobacco 
excited  instead  of  soothed  him — but  the  evening 
must  have  all  the  clear  thought  possible! 


CHAPTER  IV 

EDA     sat     again     upon     her     ottoman — her 
capacity  for  sitting  hours  without  a  support 
to  her  back  had   always   been  one   of  her 
charms  for  William  Truedale.     The  old  man  looked 
at  her  now;  how  strong  and   fine  she  was!     How 
reliant  and  yet — how  appealing!     How  she  would 
always    give    and    give — be    used    to   the   breaking 
point — and     rarely    understood.     Truedale    under- 
stood her  through  her  mother! 

"I  want  to  ask  you,  Lynda,  why  do  you  come  here 
—you  of  all  the  world?  I  have  often  wondered." 

"I — I  like  to  come,  generally,  Uncle  William.'* 

"But — other  times,  out  of  the  general?  You 
come  oftener  then.  Why?" 

And  now  Lynda  turned  her  clear,  dark  eyes  upon 
him.  A  sudden  resolve  had  been  taken.  She  was 
going  to  comfort  him  as  she  never  had  before,  going 
to  recompense  him  for  the  weeks  just  past  when 
she  had  failed  him  while  espousing  Con's  cause. 
She  was  going  to  share  her  secret  with  him! 

"Just  before  mother  went,  Uncle  William,  she 
told  me " 

The  hand  holding  the  cigar  swayed — it  was  a 
very  frail,  thin  hand. 

Si 


52  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"Told  you— what?" 

"That  you  once — loved  her." 

The  old  wound  ached  as  it  was  bared.  Lynda 
meant  to  comfort,  but  she  was  causing  excruciating 
pain. 

"She — told  you  that?  And  you  so  young!  Why 
should  she  so  burden  you — she  of  all  women?" 

"And — my  mother  loved  you,  Uncle  William! 
She  found  it  out  too  late  and — and  after  that  she 
did  her  best  for — for  Brace  and  me  and — father!" 

The  room  seemed  swaying,  as  all  else  in  the 
universe  was,  at  that  moment,  for  William  True- 
dale.  Everything  that  had  gone  to  his  undoing — 
to  the  causing  of  his  bitter  loneliness  and  despair 
— was  beaten  down  by  the  words  that  flooded  the 
former  darkness  with  almost  terrifying  light.  For 
a  moment  or  two  he  dared  not  speak — dared  not 
trust  his  voice.  The  shock  had  been  great.  Then, 
very  quietly: 

"And — and  why  did  she — speak  at  the  last?" 

Lynda's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Because,"  she  faltered,  "since  she  could  not 
have  come  to  you  without  dishonour — she  sent  me! 
Her  confidence  has  been  the  sacredest  thing  in  my 
life  and  I  have  tried  to  do  as  she  desired.  I — I  have 
failed  sadly — lately,  but  try  to  forgive  me  for — my 
mother's  sake!" 

"And  you — have" — the  voice  trembled  pitifully 
in  spite  of  the  effort  Truedale  made  to  steady  it — 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST  53 

"kept  silence — since  she  went;  why?  Oh!  youth 
is  so  ignorant,  so  cruel!"  This  was  said  more  to 
himself  than  to  the  girl  by  his  knee  upon  whose  bowed 
head  his  shrivelled  hand  unconsciously  rested. 

"First  it  was  for  father  that  I  kept  the  secret. 
He  seemed  so  stricken  after — after  he  was  alone. 
And  then — since  I  was  trying  to  be  to  you  what 
mother  wanted  me  to  be — it  did  not  seem  greatly 
to  matter.  I  wanted  to  win  my  way.  I  always 
meant  to  tell  you,  and  now,  after  these  weeks  of 
misunderstanding,  I  felt  you  should  know  that 
there  will  always  be  a  reason  for  me,  of  all  the  world, 
to  share  your  life." 

"I  see!  I  see!"  A  great  wave  of  emotion  rose 
and  rose,  carrying  the  past  years  of  misery  with  it. 
The  knowledge,  once,  might  have  saved  him,  but 
now  it  had  come  too  late.  By  and  by  he  would  be 
able  to  deal  with  this  staggering  truth  that  had  been 
so  suddenly  hurled  upon  him,  but  not  now  while 
Katherine  Kendall's  daughter  knelt  at  his  side! 

"Lynda,  I  cannot  talk  to  you  about  this.  When 
you  are  older — when  life  has  done  its  best  or  its 
worst  for  you — you  will  understand  better  than  you 
do  to-day;  but  remember  this:  what  you  have  told 
me  has  cut  deep,  but  it  has  cut,  by  one  stroke,  the 
hardness  and  bitterness  from  my  heart.  Remember 
this!" 

Then  with  a  sudden  reversion  to  his  customary 
manner  he  said: 


54  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"And  now  tell  me  about  Morrell." 

Lynda  started;  the  situation  puzzled  her.  SHe 
had  meant  to  comfort — instead  she  seemed  to  have 
hurt  and  confused  her  old  friend. 

"About  John  Morrell?"  she  murmured  with  a 
rising  perplexity;  "there  isn't  much  to  tell." 

"I  thought  it  was  a  long  story,  Lynda." 

"Somehow  it  doesn't  seem  long  when  you  get 
close  to  it.  But  surely  you  must  see,  Uncle  Wil- 
liam, that  after — after  father  and  mother — I  would 
naturally  be  a  bit  keener  than  most  girls.  It  would 
never  do  for  me  to  marry  the  wrong  man  and,  of 
course,  a  girl  never  really  knows  until — she  faces  the 
situation  at  close  quarters.  I  should  never  have 
engaged  myself  to  John  Morrell — that  was  the  real 
mistake;  and  it  was  only  when  he  felt  sure  of  me — 
that  I  knew!  Uncle  William,  I  must  have  my  own 
life,  and  John — well,  he  meant  to  have  his  own  and 
mine,  too.  I  couldn't  stand  it!  I  have  struggled 
up  and  conquered  little  heights  just  as  he  has — just 
as  Con  and  Brace  have;  we've  all  scrambled  up 
together.  It  didn't  seem  quite  fair  that  they  should 
—well,  fly  their  colours  from  their  peaks  and  that  I 
should"  (here  Lynda  laughed)  "cuddle  under  John's 
standard.  I  don't  always  believe  in  his  standard; 
I  don't  approve  of  it.  Much  as  I  like  men,  I  don't 
think  they  are  qualified  to  arrange,  sort,  fix,  and 
command  the  lives  of  women.  If  a  woman  thinks 
the  abdication  justifies  the  gains,  that's  all  right. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  55 

If  I  had  sold  myself,  honourably,  to  John  Morrell  I 
would  have  kept  to  the  agreement;  I  hate  and  loathe 
women  who  don't!  I'm  not  belittling  the  romance 
and  sentiment,  Uncle  William,  but  when  all's  told 
the  usual  marriage  is  a  bargain  and  half  the  women 
whine  about  holding  to  it — the  others  play  up  and, 
if  there  is  love  enough,  it  pans  out  pretty  well- 
but  I  couldn't!  You  see  I  had  lived  with  father  and 
mother — felt  the  lack  between  them — and  I  saw 
mother's  eyes  when  she — let  go  and  died!  No! 
I  mean  to  have  my  own  life!" 

"And  you  are  going  to  forego  a  woman's  heritage — • 
home  and  children — for  such  a  whim?  Your  mother 
had  recompenses;  are  you  not  afraid  of  the — future?" 

"Not  if  I  respect  it  and  do  not  dishonour  the 
present." 

"A  lonely  man  or  woman — an  outcast  from  the 
ordinary — is  a  creature  of  hell!" 

Lynda  shook  her  head. 

"Go  on!"  Truedale  commanded  sternly.  "Mor- 
rell is  a  good  fellow.  From  my  prison  I  took  care  to 
find  that  out.  Brace  did  me  practical  service  when 
he  acted  as  sleuth  before  your  engagement!" 

Lynda  coloured  and  frowned. 

"I  did  not  know  about  that,"  was  all  she  said. 

"It  doesn't  matter — only  I'm  glad  I  can  feel 
sorry  for  him  and  angry  at  you.  I  never  knew  you 
could  be  a  fool,  Lynda." 

"I  dare  say  we  all  can,  if  we  put  our  minds  to  it — 


56  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

sometimes  without.  Well!  that's  the  whole  story, 
Uncle  William." 

"It's  only  the  preface.  See  here,  Lynda,  did  it 
ever  strike  you  that  a  woman  like  you  doesn't  come 
to  such  a  conclusion  as  you  have  without  an  ex- 
perience— a  contrast  to  go  by?" 

"I — I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,  Uncle  Wil- 
liam." 

"I  think  you  do.  I  have  no  right  to  probe,  but 
I  have  a  right  to — to  help  you  if  I  can.  You've  done 
much  for  your  mother;  can  you  deny  me  the — the 
honour  of  doing  something  for  her?" 

"There's  nothing — to  do." 

"Let  us  see!  You're  just  a  plain  girl  when  all's 
said  and  done.  You've  got  a  little  more  backbone 
and  wit  than  some,  but  your  heart's  in  the  same 
place  as  other  women's  and  you're  no  different  in  the 
main.  You  want  the  sane,  right  things  just  as  they 
do — home,  children,  and  security  from  the  things 
women  dread.  A  man  can  give  a  woman  a  chance 
for  her  best  development;  she  ought  to  recognize 
that  and — yes — appreciate  it." 

"Surely!"  this  came  very  softly  from  the  lips 
screened  now  by  two  cold  shivering  hands.  "A 
woman  does  recognize  it;  she  appreciates  it,  but  that 
does  not  exclude  her  from — choice." 

"One  man — of  course  within  limits  and  reason — 
is  as  good  as  another  when  he  loves  a  woman  and 
makes  her  love  him.  You  certainly  thought  you 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  57 

loved  Morrell.  You  had  nothing  to  gain  unless  you 
did.  You  probably  earned  as  much  as  he." 

"That's  true.     All  quite  true." 

"Then  something  happened!"  Truedale  flung  his 
half-smoked  cigar  in  the  fire.  "What  was  it,  Lynda  ? " 

"There — was  nothing — really — 

"There  was  something.     There  was — Con!" 

"Oh!  how — how  can  you?"  Lynda  started  back. 
She  meant  to  say  "How  dare  you?"  —but  the  drawn 
and  tortured  face  restrained  her. 

"Because  I  must,  Lynda.  Because  I  must.  You 
know  I  told  you  I  had  a  story?  You  must  bear  with 
me  and  listen.  Sit  down  again  and  try  to  remember — 
I  am  doing  this  for  your  mother!  I  repeat — there 
was  Con.  At  first  you  took  up  arms  for  him  as  Brace 
did;  your  sex  instincts  were  not  awakened.  You 
were  all  good  fellows  together  until  you  drifted, 
blindfolded,  into  the  trap  poor  Morrell  set  for  you. 
You  thought  I  was  ill-treating  Con — disregarding 
his  best  interests — starving  his  soul!  Oh!  you  poor 
little  ignoramus;  the  boy  never  had  a  soul  worth 
mentioning  until  it  got  awakened,  in  self-defense,  and 
grew  its  own  limit.  What  did  you  and  Brace  know 
of  the  past — the  past  that  went  into  Con's  making? 
You  were  free  enough  with  your  young  condemna- 
tion and  misplaced  loyalty — but  how  about  justice?" 

Lynda's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Truedale's  face. 
She  had  never  seen  him  in  this  mood  and,  while  he 
fascinated,  he  overawed  her. 


58  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"Why,  girl,  Con's  father,  my  younger  brother, 
was  as  talented  as  Con,  but  he  was  a  scamp.  He  had 
money  enough  to  pave  the  way  to  his  own  destruction. 
Until  it  was  gone  he  spurned  me — spurned  even  his 
own  genius.  He  married  a  woman  as  mad  as  him- 
self and  then — without  a  qualm — tossed  her  aside  to 
die.  He  had  no  sense  of  responsibility — no  shame. 
He  had  temperament — a  damnable  one — and  he 
drifted  on  it  to  the  end.  When  it  was  all  over,  I 
brought  Conning  here.  Just  at  that  time — well, 
it  was  soon  after  your  mother  married  your  father — 
this  creeping  disease  fell  upon  me.  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  the  boy  I'd  have  ended  the  whole  thing  then 
and  there,  but  with  the  burden  laid  upon  me  I  couldn't 
slip  out.  It  has  been  a  kind  of  race  ever  since — this 
menace  mounting  higher  and  higher  and  the  making 
of  Con  keeping  pace.  I  swore  that  if  he  had  talent 
it  must  prove  itself  against  hardship,  not  in  luxury. 
I  made  life  difficult  in  order  to  toughen  and  inspire. 
I  never  meant  to  kill — you  must  do  me  that  justice. 
Only  you  see,  chained  here,  I  couldn't  follow  close 
enough,  and  Con  had  pride,  thank  God!  and  he 
thought  he  had  hate — but  he  hasn't  or  he'd  have 
starved  rather  than  accept  what  I  offered.  In  his 
heart  he — well,  let  us  say — respects  me  to  a  certain 
extent.  I  saw  him  widening  the  space  between 
himself  and  his  inheritance — and  it  has  helped  me 
live;  you  saw  him  making  a  man  of  himself  and  it 
became  more  absorbing  than  the  opportunity  of 


59 

annexing  yourself  to  a  man  already  made.  Oh,  I 
have  seen  it  all  and  it  has  helped  me  in  my  plan." 

"Your — plan?"  The  question  was  a  feeble  at- 
tempt to  grapple  with  a  situation  growing  too  big 
and  strong.  "Your  plan — what  is  your  plan?" 

"Lynda,  I  have  made  my  will!  Sitting  apart  and 
looking  on,  the  doing  of  this  has  been  the  one  great 
excitement  of  my  life.  Through  the  years  I  have 
believed  I  was  doing  it  alone;  now  I  see  your  mother's 
guiding  hand  has  led  me  on;  I  want  you  to  believe 
this  as — I  do!" 

"I — I  will  try,  Uncle  William."  Lynda  no  longer 
struggled  against  that  which  she  could  not  under- 
stand. She  felt  it  must  have  its  way  with  her. 

"This  house,"  Truedale  was  saying,  "was  meant 
for  your  mother.  I  left  it  bare  and  ready  for  her 
taste  and  choice.  After — I  go,  I  want  you  to  fit  it 
out  for  her — and  me!  You  must  do  it  at  once." 

"No!  No!"  Lynda  put  up  a  protesting  hand,  but 
Truedale  smiled  her  into  silence  and  went  on:  "I 
may  let  you  begin  to-morrow  and  not  wait!  You 
must  fill  the  bare  corners — spare  no  expense.  You 
and  I  will  be  quite  reckless;  I  want  this  place  to  be  a 
— home  at  last." 

And  now  Lynda's  eyes  were  shining — her  rare 
tears  blinded  her. 

"You  have  always  tried  indirectly,  Lynda,  to 
secure  Con's  greatest  good ;  you  have  done  it !  I  mean 
to  leave  him  a  legacy  of  three  thousand  a  year. 


60  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

That  will  enable  him  to  let  up  on  himself  and  develop 
the  talent  you  think  he  has.  I  have  seen  to  it  that 
the  two  faithful  souls  who  have  served  me  here  shall 
never  know  want.  There  will  be  money,  and  plenty 
of  it,  for  you  to  carry  out  my  wishes  regarding  this 
house,  should — well — should  anything  happen  to  me! 
After  these  details  are  attended  to,  my  fortune, 
rather  a  cumbersome  one,  goes  to — Dr.  McPherson, 
my  old  and  valued  friend!'* 

Lynda  started  violently. 

"To — to  Dr.  McPherson?"  she  gasped,  every 
desire  for  Conning  up  in  arms. 

"There!  there!  do  not  get  so  excited,  Lynda.  It 
is  only  for — three  years.  McPherson  and  I  under- 
stand." 

"And  then?" 

"  It  will  go  to  Conning — if— 

"If  what?"  Lynda  was  afraid  now. 

"If  he — marries  you!" 

"Oh!  this  is  beyond  endurance!  How  could  you 
be  so  cruel,  Uncle  William?"  The  hot,  passionate 
tears  were  burning  the  indignant  face. 

"He  will  not  know.  The  years  will  test  and 
prove  him." 

"But  I  shall  know!  If  you  thought  best  to  do 
this  thing,  why  have  you  told  me?" 

"There  have  been  hours  when  I  myself  did  not 
know  why;  I  understand  to-night.  Your  mother- 
led  me!" 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  61 

"My  mother  could  never  have  hurt  me  so. 
Never!" 

"You  must  trust — her  and  me,  Lynda." 

"Suppose — oh!  suppose — Con  does  not  .  .  . 
Oh!  this  is  degrading!" 

"Then  the  fortune  will — be  yours.  McPherson 
and  I  have  worked  this  out — most  carefully." 

"Mine!  Mine!  Why" — and  here  Lynda  flung 
her  head  back  and  laughed  relievedly — "I  refuse  ab- 
solutely to  accept  it!" 

"In  that  case  it  goes — to  chanties." 

A  hush  fell  in  the  room.  Baffled  and  angry,  Lynda 
dared  not  trust  herself  to  speak  and  Truedale  sank 
back  wearily.  Then  came  a  rattle  of  wheels  in  the 
quiet  street — a  toot  of  a  taxi  horn. 

"Thomas  has  not  forgotten  to  provide  for  your 
home  trip;  but  the  man  can  wait.  The  night  is 
mild "- -Truedale  spoke  gently — "and  you  and  I 
are  rich." 

Lynda  did  not  seem  to  hear.  Her  thoughts 
were  rushing  wildly  over  the  path  set  for  her  by  her 
old  friend's  words. 

"Conning  would  not  know!"  she  grasped  and 
held  to  that;  "he  would  be  able  to  act  indepen- 
dently. At  first  it  had  seemed  impossible.  Her 
knowledge  could  affect  no  one  but  herself!  If" — 
and  here  Lynda  breathed  faster — "if  Conning  should 
want  her  enough  to  ask  her  to  share  his  life  that 
the  three  thousand  dollars  made  possible,  why  then 


62  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

the  happiness  of  bringing  his  own  to  him  would  be 
hers! — hers!" 

Again  the  opposite  side  of  the  picture  held  her. 
"But  suppose  he  did  not  want  her — in  that  way? 
Then  she,  his  friend — the  one  who,  in  all  the  world, 
loved  him  the  best — would  profit  by  it;  she  would 
be  a  wealthy  woman,  for  her  mother's  sake  or"- 
the  alternative  staggered  her — "she  could  let  every- 
thing slip,  everything  and  bear  the  consequences!" 

At  this  point  she  turned  to  Truedale  and  asked 
pitifully  again: 

"Oh!  why,  why  did  you  do  this?" 

There  was  no  anger  or  rebellion  in  the  words, 
but  a  pathos  that  caused  the  old  man  to  close  his 
eyes  against  the  pleading  in  the  uplifted  face.  It 
was  the  one  thing  he  could  not  stand. 
.  "Time  will  prove,  child;  time  will  prove.  I 
could  not  make  you  understand;  your  mother  might 
have — I  could  not.  But  time  will  show.  Time  is 
a  strange  revealer.  All  my  life  I  have  been  working 
in  darkness  until — now!  I  should  have  trusted 
more — you  must  learn  from  me. 

"  There,  do  not  keep  the  man  waiting  longer.  I 
wonder — do  not  do  it  unless  you  want  to,  or  think 
it  right — but  I  wonder  if  you  could  kiss  me  good- 
bye?" 

Lynda  rose  and,  tear-blinded,  bent  over  and 
kissed  him — kissed  him  twice,  once  for  her  mother! — 
and  she  felt  that  he  understood.  She  had  never 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  63 

touched  her  lips  to  his  before,  and  it  seemed  a  strange 
ceremony. 

An  hour  later  Truedale  called  for  Thomas  and 
was  wheeled  to  his  bedroom  and  helped  to  bed. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said  to  the  man,  "you  had  better 
put  those  drops  on  the  stand.  If  I  cannot  sleep — 
Thomas  smiled  and  obeyed.  There  had  been  a 
time  when  he  feared  that  small,  dark  bottle,  but  not 
now!  He  believed  too  sincerely  in  his  master's 
strength  of  character.  Having  the  medicine  near 
might,  by  suggestion,  help  calm  the  restlessness, 
but  it  had  never  been  resorted  to,  so  Thomas  smiled 
as  he  turned  away  with  a  cheery: 

"Very  well,  sir;  but  there  will  be  no  need,  I  hope." 

"Good-night,  Thomas.  Raise  the  shade,  please. 
It's  a  splendid  night,  isn't  it?  If  they  should  build 
on  that  rear  lot  I  could  not  see  the  moon  so  well. 
I  may  decide  to  buy  that  property." 

When  Thomas  had  gone  and  he  was  alone  at  last, 
Truedale  heaved  a  heavy  sigh.  It  seemed  to  relieve 
the  restraint  under  which  he  had  been  labouring  for 
weeks. 

All  his  life  the  possibility  of  escape  from  his 
bondage  had  made  the  bondage  less  unendurable. 
It  was  like  knowing  of  a  secret  passage  from  his 
prison  house — an  exit  dark  and  attended  by  doubts 
and  fears,  but  nevertheless  a  sure  passage  to  free- 
dom. It  had  seemed,  in  the  past,  a  cowardly  thing 
to  avail  himself  of  his  knowledge — it  was  like  going 


64  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

with  his  debts  unpaid.  But  now,  in  the  bright, 
moonlit  room  it  no  longer  appeared  so.  He  had 
finished  his  task,  had  ended  the  bungling,  and  had 
heard  a  clear  call  ringing  with  commendation  and 
approval.  There  was  nothing  to  hold  him  back! 

Over  in  the  cabinet  by  the  window  were  a  photo- 
graph and  a  few  letters;  Truedale  turned  toward 
them  and  wondered  if  Lynda,  instead  of  his  old 
friend  McPherson,  would  find  them?  He  wished 
he  had  spoken — but  after  all,  he  could  not  wait.  He 
had  definitely  decided  to  take  the  journey!  But 
he  spoke  softly  as  if  to  a  Presence: 

"And  so — you  played  a  part?  Poor  girl!  how 
well — you  played  it!  And  you — suffered — oh!  my 
God — and  I  never  did  you  the  justice  of  understand- 
ing. And  you  left  your  girl — to  me — I  have  tried 
not  to  fail  you  there,  Katherine!" 

Then  Truedale  reached  for  the  bottle.  He  took 
a  swallow  of  the  contents  and  waited!  Presently 
he  took,  another  and  a  thrill  of  exhilaration  stirred 
his  sluggish  blood.  Weakly,  gropingly,  he  stretched 
his  benumbed  hand  out  again;  he  was  well  on  his 
way  now.  The  long  journey  was  begun  in  the 
moonlight  and,  strange  to  say,  it  did  not  grow  dark, 
nor  did  he  seem  to  be  alone.  This  surprised  him 
vaguely,  he  had  always  expected  it  would  be  so 
different ! 

And  by  and  by  one  face  alone  confronted  him — 
it  was  brighter  than  the  moonlit  way.  It  smiled 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  65 

understandingly — it,  too,  had  faced  the  broad  high- 
way— it  could  afford  to  smile. 

Once  more  the  heavy,  dead-cold  hand  moved 
toward  the  stand  beside  the  bed,  but  it  fell  nerveless 
ere  it  reached  what  it  sought. 

The  escape  had  been  achieved! 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  days  passed  and,  unfettered,  Jim  White 
remained  in  the  deep  woods.  After  Nella- 
Rose's  disturbing  but  thrilling  advent,  True- 
dale  rebounded  sharply  and,  alone  in  his  cabin, 
brought  himself  to  terms.  By  a  rigid  arraignment 
he  relegated,  or  thought  he  had  relegated,  the 
whole  matter  to  the  realm  of  things  he  should  not 
have  permitted,  but  which  had  done  no  real  harm. 
He  brought  out  the  heavy  book  on  philosophy  and 
endeavoured  to  study.  After  a  few  hours  he  even 
resorted  to  the  wet  towel,  thinking  that  suggestion 
might  assist  him,  but  Nella-Rose  persistently  and 
impishly  got  between  his  eyes  and  the  pages  and 
flouted  philosophy  by  the  magic  of  her  superstition 
and  bewitching  charm. 

Then  Truedale  attacked  his  play,  viciously, 
commandingly.  This  was  more  successful.  He  re- 
constructed his  plot  somewhat — he  let  Nella-Rose 
in!  Curbed  and  somewhat  re-modelled,  she  materi- 
alized and,  while  he  dealt  strictly  with  her,  writing 
was  possible. 

So  the  first  day  and  night  passed.  On  the  second 
day  Truedale's  new  strength  demanded  exercise  and 
recreation.  He  couldn't  be  expected  to  lock  him- 

66 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  67 

self  in  until  White  returned  to  chaperone  him.  After 
all,  there  was  no  need  of  being  a  fool.  So  he  packed 
a  gunny  sack  with  food  and  a  book  or  two,  and  sallied 
forth,  after  providing  generously  for  the  live  stock 
and  calling  the  dogs  after  him. 

But  Trued  ale  was  unaware  of  what  was  going  on 
about  him.  Pine  Cone  Settlement  had,  since  the 
trap  episode,  been  tense  and  waiting.  Not  many 
things  occurred  in  the  mountains  and  when  they 
did  they  were  made  the  most  of.  With  significant 
silence  the  friends  and  foes  of  Burke  Lawson  were 
holding  themselves  in  check  until  he  returned  to 
his  old  haunts;  then  there  would  be  considerable 
shooting — not  necessarily  fatal,  a  midnight  raid  or 
two,  a  general  rumpus,  and  eventually,  a  truce. 

All  this  Jim  White  knew,  and  it  was  the  propelling 
factor  that  had  sent  him  to  the  deep  woods.  His 
sentiments  conflicted  with  duty.  Guilty  as  Lawson 
was,  the  sheriff  liked  him  better  than  he  did  Martin 
and  he  meant,  should  he  come  across  Burke  in  "the 
sticks,"  to  take  him  off  for  a  bear  hunt  and  some 
good  advice.  Thus  he  would  justify  his  conscience 
and  legal  duties.  But  White,  strange  to  say,  was  as 
ignorant  as  Truedale  was  of  an  element  that  had 
entered  into  conditions.  It  had  never  occurred  to 
Jim  to  announce  or  explain  his  visitor's  arrival. 
To  Pine  Cone  a  "furriner"  aroused  at  best  but  a  super- 
ficial interest  and,  since  Truedale  had  arrived,  un- 
seen, at  night,  why  mention  him  to  a  community 


68  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

that  could  not  possibly  have  anything  in  common 
with  him?  So  it  was  that  Greyson  and  a  few  others, 
noting  Truedale  at  a  distance  and  losing  sight  of 
him  at  once,  concluded  that  he  was  Burke,  back 
and  in  hiding;  and  a  growing  but  stealthy  excite- 
ment was  in  the  air.  He  was  supposed  by  both 
factions  to  be  with  the  sheriff,  and  feeling  ran  high. 
In  the  final  estimate,  could  White  have  known  it, 
he  himself  held  no  small  part! 

Beloved  and  hated,  Lawson  divided  the  community 
for  and  against  himself  about  equally.  There  were 
those  who  defended  and  swore  they  would  kill  any 
who  harmed  the  young  outlaw — he  was  of  the 
jovial,  dare-devil  type  and  as  loyal  to  his  friends  as  he 
was  unyielding  to  his  foes.  Others  declared  that  the 
desperado  must  be  "finished";  the  trap  disagreement 
was  but  the  last  of  a  long  list  of  crimes;  it  was  time 
to  put  a  quietus  on  one  who  refused  to  fall  into  line— 
who  called  the  sheriff  his  friend  and  had  been  known 
to  hobnob  with  revenue  men!  That,  perhaps,  was 
the  blackest  deed  to  be  attributed  to  any  native. 

So  all  Pine  Cone  was  on  the  war  path  and  Truedale, 
heedless  and  unaware,  took  his  air  and  exercise  at 
his  peril. 

The  men  of  the  hills  had  a  clear  case  now,  since 
Peter  Greyson  had  given  his  evidence,  which,  by 
the  way,  became  more  conclusive  hour  by  hour  as 
imagination,  intoxication,  and  the  delight  of  finding 
himself  important,  grew  upon  Greyson. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  69 

"Jim  told  me,"  Peter  had  confided  to  Jed  Martin, 
"that  he  was  going  to  get  a  posse  from  way-back 
and  round  Lawson  up." 

This  was  wholly  false.  White  never  took  any 
one  into  his  business  secrets,  least  of  all  Greyson  for 
whom  he  had  deep  contempt.  "But  I  don't  call 
that  clean  to  us-all,  Jed.  We  don't  want  strangers 
to  catch  Burke;  we  don't  want  them  to: — to  string 
him  up  or  shoot  him  full  of  holes;  what  we-all  want 
is  to  force  White  to  hand  him  over  to  justice,  give 
him  a  fair  trial,  and  then  send  him  to  one  of  them 
prison  traps  to  eat  his  soul  out  behind  bars.  Jed — 
just  you  shut  your  eyes  and  see  Burke  Lawson 
behind  bars — eating  sop  from  a  pan,  drinking  prison 
water — just  you  call  that  picture  up." 

Jed  endeavoured  to  do  so  and  it  grew  upon  his 
imagination. 

"We-all  wants  to  trail  him,"  Greyson  continued, 
"we  don't  want  to  give  him  a  free  passage  to  King- 
dom-Come by  rope  or  shot — we-all  want  prison  for 
Lawson,  prison!" 

As  Jed  was  the  one  most  concerned,  this  edict  went 
abroad  by  mountain  wireless. 

"Catch  him  alive!"  Friend  and  foe  were 
alert. 

"And  when  all's  fixed  and  done — when  Burke's 
trapped,"  Greyson  said,  "what  you  going  to  do — for 
me,  Jed?" 

This  was  a  startling,  new  development. 


yo  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"I  didn't  reckon  yo'  war  doin'  this — fur  pay!" 
Jed  faltered.  Then  Greyson  came  forth: 

"No  pay,  Jed.  Gawd  knows  I  do  my  duty  as  I 
see  it.  But  being  keen  about  duty,  I  see  more  than 
one  duty.  When  you  catch  and  cage  Lawson, 
Jed,  I  want  to  be  something  closer  to  you  than  a 
friend." 

"Closer  than "  Jed  gasped. 

"And  duty  drives  me  to  confess  to  you,  Jed,  that 
the  happiness  of  a  lady  is  at  stake." 

Jed  merely  gaped  now.  Visions  of  Nella-Rose 
made  him  giddy  and  speechless. 

"The  day  you  put  Lawson  in  jail,  Jed,  that  day 
I'll  give  you  the  hand  of  my  daughter.  She  loves 
you;  she  has  confessed!  You  shall  come  here  and 
share — everything!  The  hour  that  Burke  is  con- 
victed— Marg  is  yours!" 

"Marg!"     The  word  came  on  a  gasp. 

"Not  a  word!"  Greyson  waved  his  hand  in  a 
princely  way — this  gesture  was  an  heirloom  from  his 
ancestry.  "I  understand  your  feelings — I've  seen 
what  has  been  going  on — but  naturally  I  want  my 
daughter  to  marry  one  worthy  of  her.  You  shall 
have  my  Marg  when  you  have  proven  yourself! 
I've  misjudged  you,  Jed,  but  this  will  wipe  away 
old  scores." 

With  a  sickening  sense  of  being  absorbed,  Jed 
sank  into  black  silence.  If  Marg  wanted  him  and  old 
Greyson  was  helping  her,  there  was  no  hope!  Blood 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  71 

and  desire  would  conquer  every  time;  every  moun- 
taineer recognized  that! 

And  so  things  were  seething  under  a  surface  of 
deadly  calm,  when  Trued  ale,  believing  that  he  had 
himself  well  in  control,  packed  his  gunny  sack  and 
started  forth  for  a  long  tramp.  He  had  no  particular 
destination  in  mind — in  fact,  the  soft,  dreamy  autumn 
day  lulled  him  to  mental  inertia — he  simply  went 
along,  but  he  went  as  directly  toward  the  rhododen- 
dron slick  as  though  he  had  long  planned  his  actions. 
However,  it  was  late  afternoon  before  he  came  upon 
Nella-Rose. 

On  the  instant  he  realized  that  he  had  been 
searching  for  her  all  day.  His  stern  standards  crum- 
bled and  became  dry  dust.  One  might  as  well  apply 
standards  to  flickering  sunlight  or  to  swirling  trifles 
of  mountain  mist  as  to  Nella-Rose.  She  came  upon 
him  gaily;  the  dogs  had  discovered  her  on  one  of 
their  ventures  and  were  now  quietly  accompanying 
her. 

"I — I've  been  looking  for  you — all  day!"  Truedale 
admitted,  with  truth  but  indiscretion.  And  then 
he  noted,  as  he  had  before,  the  strange  impression  the 
girl  gave  of  having  been  blown  upon  the  scene.  The 
pretty,  soft  hair  resting  on  the  cheek  in  a  bewildering 
curve;  the  large,  dreamy  eyes  and  black  lashes;  the 
close  clinging  of  her  shabby  costume,  as  if  wrapped 
about  her  slim  body  by  the  playful  gale  that  had 
wafted  her  along;  all  held  part  in  the  illusion. 


72  THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 

"I  had  to — to  lead  Marg  to  Devil-may-come 
Hollow.  She's  hunting  there  now!"  Nella- Rose's 
white  teeth  showed  in  a  mischievous  smile.  "We're 
right  safe  with  Marg  down  there,  scurrying  around. 
Come,  I  know  a  sunny  place — I  want  to  tell  you 
about  Marg." 

Her  childish  appropriation  of  him  completed 
Truedale's  surrender.  The  absolute  lack  of  self- 
consciousness  drove  the  last  remnant  of  caution 
away.  They  found  the  sunny  spot — it  was  like  a 
dimple  in  a  hill  that  had  caught  the  warmth  and 
brightness  and  held  them  always  to  the  exclusion  of 
shadows.  It  almost  seemed  that  night  could  never 
conquer  the  nook. 

And  while  they  rested  there,  Nella-Rose  told  him 
of  the  belief  of  the  natives  that  he  was  the  refugee 
Lawson. 

"And  Marg  would  give  you  up  like — er — this" 
(Nella-Rose  puffed  an  imaginary  trifle  away  with  her 
pretty  pursed  lips).  "She  trailed  after  me  all  day — 
she  lost  me  in  a  place  where  hiding's  good — and  there 
I  left  her!  She'll  tell  Jed  Martin  this  evening  when 
she  gets  back,.  Marg  is  scenting  Burke  for  Jed  and 
his  kind  to  catch — that's  her  way  and  Jed's!" 
Stinging  contempt  rang  in  the  girl's  voice. 

"But  not  your  way  I  bet,  Nella-Rose."  The  fun, 
not  the  danger,  of  the  situation  struck  Truedale. 

"No! — I'd  do  it  all  myself!  I'd  either  warn  him 
and  have  done  with  it,  or  I'd  stand  by  him." 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  73 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  like  the  misunderstanding 
about  me,"  Truedale  half  playfully  remarked, 
"they  may  shoot  me  in  the  back  before  they  find 
out." 

"Do  you"  (and  here  Nella- Rose's  face  fell  into 
serious,  dangerously  sweet,  lines),  "do  you  reckon 
I  would  leave  you  to  them-all  if  there  was  that 
danger?  They  don't  aim  to  shoot  or  string  Burke 
up;  they  reckon  they'll  take  him  alive  and — get  him 
locked  up  in  jail  to — to— 

"What,  Nella-Rose?" 

"Die  of  longing!" 

"Is  that  what  would  happen  to  Burke  Lawson?" 

The  girl  nodded.  Then  the  entrancing  mischief 
returned  to  her  eyes  and  she  became  a  child  once 
more — a  creature  so  infinitely  young  that  Truedale 
seemed  grandfatherly  by  comparison. 

"Can't  you  see  how  mighty  funny  it  will  be  to 
lead  them  and  let  them  follow  on  and  then  some 
day — they'll  plump  right  up  on  you  and  find  out! 
Godda'mighty ! " 

Irresponsible  mirth  swayed  the  girl  to  and  fro. 
She  laughed,  silently,  until  the  tears  stood  in  the 
clear  eyes.  Truedale  caught  the  spirit  of  her  mood 
and  laughed  with  her.  The  picture  she  portrayed  of 
setting  jealousy,  malice,  and  stupidity  upon  the 
wrong  trail  was  very  funny,  but  suddenly  he  paused 
and  said  seriously: 

"But  in  the  meantime  this  Burke  Lawson  may 


74  THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 

return;  you  may  be  the  death  of  him  with  your 
pranks." 

Nella-Rose  shook  her  head.  "I  would  know!" 
she  declared  confidently.  "I  know  everything 
that's  going  on  in  the  hills.  Burke  would  let  me 
know — first!" 

"It's  like  melodrama,"  Truedale  murmured  half 
to  himself.  By  some  trick  of  fancy  he  seemed 
to  be  looking  on  as  Brace  Kendall  might  have. 
The  thought  brought  him  to  bay.  What  would 
good  old  Brace  do  in  the  present  situation? 

"What  is  melodrama?"  Nella-Rose  never  let  a 
new  word  or  suggestion  escape  her.  She  was  as 
keen  as  she  was  dramatic  and  mischievous. 

"It  would  be  hard  to  make  you  understand- 
but  see  here" — Truedale  drew  the  gunny  sack  to 
him — "I  bet  you're  hungry!"  He  deliberately  put 
Brace  from  his  thoughts. 

"I  reckon  I  am."  The  lovely  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  hand  that  was  bringing  forth  the  choicest 
morsels  of  the  food  prepared  early  that  morning. 
As  he  laid  the  little  feast  before  her,  Truedale  ac- 
knowledged that,  in  a  vague  way,  he  had  been  saving 
the  morsels  for  Nella-Rose  even  while  he  had  fed, 
earlier,  upon  coarser  fare. 

"I  don't  know  about  giving  you  a  chicken  wing!  "he 
said  playfully.  "You  look  as  if  you  were  about  to  fly 
away  as  it  is — but  unfortunately  I've  eaten  both  legs ! " 

"Oh!    please" — Nella-Rose    reached    across    the 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  75 

narrow  space  separating  them,  she  was  pleading 
prettily — "I  just  naturally  admire  wings!" 

"I  bet  you  do!  Well,  eat  plenty  of  bread  with 
them.  And  see  here,  Nella-Rose,  while  you  are 
eating  I'm  going  to  read  a  story  to  you.  It  is  the 
sort  of  thing  that  we  call  melodrama." 

"Oh!"  This  through  the  dainty  nibbling  of  the 
coveted  wing.  "I'm  right  fond  of  stories." 

"Keep  quiet  now!"  commanded  Truedale  and  he 
began  the  spirited  tale  of  love  and  high  adventure 
that,  like  the  tidbits,  he  knew  he  had  brought  for 
Nella-Rose! 

The  warm  autumn  sun  fell  upon  them  for  a  full  hour, 
then  it  shifted  and  the  chill  of  the  approaching  evening 
warned  the  reader  of  the  flight  of  time.  He  stopped 
suddenly  to  find  that  his  companion  had  long  since 
forgotten  her  hunger  and  food.  Across  the  debris 
she  bent,  absorbed  and  tense.  Her  hands  were 
clasped  close — cold,  little  hands  they  were — and 
her  big  eyes  were  strained  and  wonder-filled. 

"Is  that — all?"  she  asked,  hoarsely. 

"Why,  no,  child,  there's  more." 

"Goon!" 

"It's  too  late!     We  must  get  back." 

"I — I  must  know  the  rest!  Why,  don't  you 
see,  you  know  how  it  turns  out;  I  don't!" 

"Shall  I  tell  you?" 

"No,  no.  I  want  it  here  with  the  warm  sun  and 
the  pines  and  your — yourself  making  it  real." 


76  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"I  do  not  understand,  Nella-Rose!"  But  as 
he  spoke  Truedale  began  to  understand  and  it  gave 
him  an  uneasy  moment.  He  knew  what  he  ought 
to  do,  but  knew  that  he  was  not  going  to  do  it! 
"We'll  have  to  come  again  and  hear  the  rest,"  was 
what  he  said. 

"Yes?  Why" — and  here  the  shadowy  eyes  took 
on  the  woman-look,  the  look  that  warned  and  lured 
the  man  near  her — "I  did  not  know  it  ever  came 
like  that — really." 

"What,  Nella-Rose?" 

"Why — love.  They-all  knew  it — and  took  it. 
It  was  just  like  it  was  something  all  by  itself.  That's 
not  the  sort  us-all  have.  Does  it  only  come  that — 
er — way  in  mel — melerdrammer?" 

"No,  little  girl.  It  comes  that  way  in  real  life 
when  hearts  are  big  enough  and  strong  enough  to 
bear  it."  Truedale  watched  the  effect  of  his  words 
upon  the  strange,  young  face  before  him.  They 
forced  their  way  through  her  ignorance  and  un- 
trained yearning  for  love  and  admiration.  It  was  a 
perilous  moment,  for  conscience,  on  Trued  ale's 
part,  seemed  drugged  and  sleeping  and  Nella-Rose 
was  awakening  to  that  which  she  had  never  known 
before.  Gone,  for  her,  were  caprice  and  mischief; 
she  seemed  about  to  see  and  hear  some  wonderful 
thing  that  eluded  but  called  her  on. 

And  after  that  first  day  they  met  often.  "Hap- 
pened upon  each  other"  was  the  way  Truedale  put 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  77 

it.  It  seemed  very  natural.  The  picturesque  spots 
appealed  to  them  both.  There  was  reading,  too — 
carefully  selected  bits.  It  was  intensely  inter- 
esting to  lead  the  untrained  mind  into  bewildering 
mazes — to  watch  surprise,  wonder,  and  perplexity 
merge  into  understanding  and  enjoyment.  True- 
dale  experienced  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  that,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  was  a  great  power.  The 
thought  set  his  brain  whirling  a  bit,  but  it  made 
him  seriously  humble  as  well. 

Gradually  his  doubts  and  introspections  became 
more  definite;  he  lived  day  by  day,  hour  by  hour; 
while  Jim  White  tarried,  Nella-Rose  remained; 
and  the  past — Truedale's  past — faded  almost  from 
sight.  He  could  hardly  realize,  when  thinking  of  it 
afterward,  where  and  how  he  decided  to  cut  loose 
from  his  past,  and  all  it  meant,  and  accept  a  future 
almost  ludicrously  different  from  anything  he  had 
contemplated. 

One  day  a  reference  to  Burke  Lawson  was  made 
and,  instead  of  letting  it  pass  as  heretofore,  he 
asked  suddenly  of  Nella-Rose: 

"What  is  he  to  your" 

The  girl  flushed  and  turned  away. 

"Burke? — oh,  Burke  isn't — anything — now!" 

"Was  he  ever — anything?" 

"I  reckon  he  wasn't;  I  know  he  wasn't!" 

Then,  like  a  flash,  Truedale  believed  he  under- 
stood what  had  happened.  This  simple  girl  meant 


78  THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 

more  to  him  than  anything  else — more  than  the 
past  and  what  it  held!  A  baser  man  would  not 
have  been  greatly  disturbed  by  this  knowledge;  a 
man  with  more  experience  and  background  would 
have  understood  it  and  known  that  it  was  a  phase  that 
must  be  dealt  with  sternly  and  uncompromisingly, 
but  that  it  was  merely  a  phase  and  as  such  bound 
to  pass.  Not  so  Truedale.  He  was  stirred  to  the 
roots  of  his  being;  every  experience  was  to  him  a  con- 
crete fact  and,  consequently,  momentous.  In  order 
to  keep  pure  the  emotions  that  overpowered  him  at 
times,  he  must  renounce  all  that  separated  him  from 
Nella-Rose  and  reconstruct  his  life;  or — he  must 
let  her  go! 

Once  Truedale  began  to  reason  this  out,  once 
he  saw  Nella- Rose's  dependence  upon  him — her  trust 
and  happiness — he  capitulated  and  permitted  his 
imagination  to  picture  and  colour  the  time  on  ahead. 
He  refused  to  turn  a  backward  glance. 

Of  course  all  this  was  not  achieved  without 
struggle  and  foreboding;  but  he  saw  no  way  to  hold 
what  once  was  dear,  without  dishonour  to  that 
which  now  was  dearer;  and  he — let  go! 

This  determined,  he  strenuously  began  to  pre- 
pare himself  for  the  change.  Day  by  day  he  watched 
Nella-Rose  with  new  and  far-seeing  interest — not 
always  with  love  and  passion-blinded  eyes.  He 
felt  that  she  could,  with  his  devotion  and  training, 
develop  into  a  rarely  sweet  and  fine  woman.  He  was 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  79 

not  always  a  fool  in  his  madness;  at  times  he  was 
wonderfully  clear-sighted.  He  meant  to  return 
home,  when  once  his  health  was  restored,  and  take 
the  Kendalls  into  his  confidence;  but  the  thought  of 
Lynda  gave  him  a  bad  moment  now  and  then. 
He  could  not  easily  depose  her  from  the  most 
sacred  memories  of  his  life,  but  gradually  he  grew 
to  believe  that  her  relations  to  him  were — had 
always  been — platonic;  and  that  she,  in  the  new 
scheme,  would  play  no  small  part  in  his  life  and 
Nella-Rose's. 

There  would  be  years  of  self-denial  and  labour 
and  then,  by  and  by,  success  would  be  achieved. 
He  would  take  his  finished  work,  and  in  this  he  in- 
cluded Nella-Rose,  back  to  his  old  haunts  and  prove 
his  wisdom  and  good  fortune.  In  short,  Truedale 
was  love-mad — ready  to  fling  everything  to  the  ruth- 
less winds  of  passion.  He  blindly  called  things  by 
wrong  names  and  steered  straight  for  the  rocks. 

He  meant  well,  as  God  knew;  indeed  all  the 
religious  elements,  hitherto  unsuspected  in  him, 
came  to  the  fore  now.  Conventions  were  absurd 
when  applied  to  present  conditions,  but,  once  having 
accepted  the  inevitable,  the  way  was  divinely  radi- 
ant. He  meant  to  pay  the  price  for  what  he  yearned 
after.  He  had  no  other  intention. 

Now  that  he  was  resigned  to  letting  the  past 
go,  he  could  afford  to  revel  in  the  joys  of  the  present 
with  a  glad  sense  of  responsibility  for  the  future. 


8o  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

Presently  his  course  seemed  so  natural  that 
he  wondered  he  had  ever  questioned  it.  More 
and  more  men  with  a  vision — and  Trued  ale  devoutly 
believed  he  had  the  vision — were  recognizing  the 
absurdity  of  old  ideals. 

Back  to  the  soil  meant  more  than  the  physical; 
it  meant  back  to  the  primitive,  the  simple,  the  real. 
The  artificial  exactions  of  society  must  be  spurned 
if  a  new  and  higher  morality  were  to  be  established. 

If  Truedale  in  this  state  of  mind  had  once  seen  the 
actual  danger,  all  might  have  been  well;  but  he  had 
swung  out  of  his  orbit. 

At  this  juncture  Nella-Rose  was  puzzling  her 
family  to  the  extent  of  keeping  her  father  phenome- 
nally sober  and  driving  Marg  to  the  verge  of  nerve 
exhaustion. 

The  girl  had,  to  put  it  in  Greyson's  words,  "grown 
up  over  night."  She  was  dazzling  and  recalled  a 
past  that  struck  deep  in  the  father's  heart. 

There  had  been  a  time  when  Peter  Greyson,  a 
mere  boy,  to  be  sure — and  before  the  cruel  war  had 
wrecked  the  fortunes  of  his  family — had  been  sur- 
rounded by  such  women  as  Nella-Rose  now  sug- 
gested. Women  with  dancing  eyes  and  soft,  white 
hands.  Women  born  and  bred  for  love  and  homage, 
who  demanded  their  privileges  with  charm  and 
beauty.  There  had  been  one  fascinating  woman,  a 
great-aunt  of  Nella-Rose's,  who  had  imperilled 
the  family  honour  by  taking  her  heritage  of  worship 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST  81 

with  a  high  hand.  Disregarding  the  rights  of  an- 
other, she  boldly  rode  off  with  the  man  of  her  choice 
and  left  the  reconstruction  of  her  reputation  to  her 
kith  and  kin  who  roused  instantly  to  action  and 
lied,  like  ladies  and  gentlemen,  when  truth  was  im- 
possible. Eventually  they  so  toned  down  and  pol- 
ished the  deed  of  the  little  social  highwaywoman  as 
to  pass  her  on  in  the  family  history  with  an  escut- 
cheon shadowed  only,  rather  than  smirched. 

Nella-Rose,  now  that  her  father  considered,  was 
dangerously  like  her  picturesque  ancestress!  The 
thought  kept  Peter  from  the  still,  back  in  the  woods, 
for  many  a  day.  He,  poor  down-at-heel  fellow,  was 
as  ready  as  any  man  of  his  line  to  protect  women, 
especially  his  own,  but  he  was  sorely  perplexed 
now. 

Was  it  Burke  Lawson  who,  from  his  hiding  place, 
was  throwing  a  glamour  over  Nella-Rose? 

Then  Peter  grew  ugly.  The  protection  of  women 
was  one  thing;  ridding  the  community  of  an  outlaw 
was  another.  Men  knew  how  to  deal  with  such 
matters  and  Greyson  believed  himself  to  be  very 
much  of  a  man. 

"Nella-Rose,"  he  said  one  day  as  he  smoked 
reflectively  and  listened  to  his  younger  daughter 
singing  a  camp  meeting  hymn  in  a  peculiarly  sweet 
little  voice,  "when  my  ship  comes  in,  honey,  I'm 
going  to  buy  you  a  harp.  A  gold  one." 

"I'd  rather  have  a  pink  frock,  father,  and  a  real 


82  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

hat;  I  just  naturally  hate  sunbonnets!  I'd  favour 
a  feather  on  my  hat — flowers  fade  right  easy." 

"But  harps  is  mighty  elegant,  Nella-Rose.  Time 
was  when  your — aunts  and — and  grandmothers  took 
to  harps  like  they  was  their  daily  nourishment. 
Don't  you  ever  forget  that,  Nella-Rose.  Harps  in 
families  mean  blood,  and  blood  don't  run  out  if  you're 
careful  of  it." 

Nella-Rose  laughed,  but  Marg,  in  the  wash-house 
beyond,  listened  and — hated! 

No  one  connected  her  with  harps  or  blood,  but  she 
held,  in  her  sullen  heart  and  soul,  the  true  elements 
of  all  that  had  gone  into  the  making  of  the  best 
Greysons.  And  as  the  winter  advanced,  Marg, 
worn  in  mind  and  body,  was  brought  face  to  face 
with  stern  reality.  Autumn  was  gone — though  the 
languorous  hours  belied  it.  She  must  prepare. 
So  she  gathered  her  forces — her  garden  products 
that  could  be  exchanged  for  necessities;  the  pork; 
the  wool;  all,  all  that  could  be  spared,  she  must  set 
in  circulation.  So  she  counted  three  dozen  eggs 
and  weighed  ten  pounds  of  pork  and  called  Nella- 
Rose,  who  was  driving  her  mad  by  singing  and 
romping  outside  the  kitchen  door. 

"You — Nella-Rose!"  she  called,  "are  you  plumb 
crazy?" 

Nella-Rose  became  demure  at  once  and  presented 
herself  at  the  door. 

"Do  I  look  it?"  she  said,  turning  her  wonderful 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  83 

little  face  up  for  inspection.  Something  in  the  words 
and  in  the  appealing  beauty  made  Marg  quiver. 
Had  happiness  and  justice  been  meted  out  to  Marg 
Greyson  she  would  have  been  the  tenderest  of  sisters 
to  Nella-Rose.  Several  years  lay  between  them; 
the  younger  girl  was  encroaching  upon  the  diminish- 
ing rights  of  the  older.  The  struggle  between  them 
was  as  old  as  life  itself,  but  it  could  not  kill  utterly 
what  should  have  existed  ardently. 

"You  got  to  tote  these  things"-— Marg  held  forth 
the  basket — "down  to  the  Centre  for  trade,  and  you 
can  fetch  back  the  HI'  things  like  pepper,  salt,  and 
sugar.  Tell  Cal  Merrivale  to  fetch  the  rest  and  bar- 
gain for  what  I've  got  ready  here,  when  he  drives  by. 
If  you  start  now  you  can  be  back  by  sundown." 

To  Marg's  surprise,  Nella-Rose  offered  no  protest 
to  the  seven-mile  walk,  nor  to  the  heavy  load.  She 
promptly  pulled  her  sunbonnet  to  the  proper  angle 
on  her  head  and  gripped  the  basket. 

"Ain't  you  goin'  to  eat  first?"  asked  Marg. 

"No.     Put  in  a  bite;  I'll  eat  it  by  the  way." 

As  the  Centre  was  in  the  opposite  direction  from 
the  Hollow,  as  seven  miles  going  and  seven  miles 
coming  would  subdue  the  spirits  and  energy  even 
of  Nella-Rose,  Marg  was  perplexed.  However,  she 
prepared  food,  tucked  it  in  the  basket,  and  even  went 
so  far  as  to  pin  her  sister's  shawl  closely  under  her 
chin.  Then  she  watched  the  slim,  straight  figure  de- 
part— still  puzzled  but  at  peace  for  the  day,  at  least. 


84  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

Nella-Rose,  however,  was  plotting  an  attack  upon 
Truedale  quite  out  of  the  common.  By  unspoken 
consent  he  and  she  had  agreed  that  their  meetings 
should  be  in  the  open.  Jim  White  might  return  at 
anytime  and  neither  of  them  wanted  at  first  to  include 
him  in  the  bewildering  drama  of  their  lives.  For 
different  reasons  they  knew  that  Jim's  cold  under- 
standing of  duty  would  shatter  the  sacred  security 
that  was  all  theirs.  Truedale  meant  to  confide 
everything  to  White  upon  his  return — meant  to 
rely  upon  him  in  the  reconstruction  of  his  life;  but  he 
knew  nothing  could  be  so  fatal  to  the  future  as  any 
conflict  at  the  present  with  the  sherifFs  strict  ideas 
of  conduct.  As  for  Nella-Rose,  she  had  reason  to  fear 
White's  power  as  woman-hater  and  upholder  of  law 
and  order.  She  simply  eliminated  Jim  and.  in  order 
to  do  this,  she  must  keep  him  in  the  dark. 

Early  that  morning  she  had  looked,  as  she  did 
every  day,  from  the  hill  behind  the  house  and  she 
had  seen  but  one  thin  curl  of  smoke  from  the  clearing! 
If  White  had  not  returned  the  night  before  the 
chances  were  that  he  would  make  another  day  of  it! 
Nella-Rose  often  wondered  why  others  did  not  note 
the  tell-tale  smoke — a  clue  which  often  played  a 
vital  part  in  the  news  of  the  hills.  Only  because 
thoughts  were  focussed  on  the  Hollow  and  on  White's 
absence,  was  Truedale  secure  in  his  privacy. 

"I'll  hurry  mighty  fast  to  the  Centre,"  Nella-Rose 
concluded,  after  escaping  from  Marg's  disturbed 


85 

gaze,  "then  I'll  hide  the  things  by  the  big  road  and 
I'll — go  to  his  cabin.  I'll — I'll  surprise  him!" 

Truedale  had  told  her  the  day  before,  in  a  moment 
of  caution,  that  he  would  have  to  work  hard  for  a 
time  in  order  to  make  ready  for  White's  return. 
The  fact  was  he  had  now  got  to  that  point  in  his 
story  when  he  longed  for  Jim  as  he  might  have 
longed  for  safety  on  a  troubled  sea.  With  Jim  back 
and  fully  informed — everything  on  ahead  would  be 
safe. 

"I'll  surprise  him!"  murmured  Nella-Rose,  with 
the  dimples  in  full  play  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth; 
"old  Jim  White  can't  keep  me  away.  I'll  watch 
out — it's  just  for  a  minute;  I'll  be  back  by  sundown; 
it  will  be  only  to  say  'how-de?" 

Something  argued  with  the  girl  as  she  ran  on — 
something  quite  new  and  uncontrolled.  Heretofore 
no  law  but  that  of  the  wilds  had  entered  into  her 
calculations.  To  get  what  she  could  of  happiness 
and  life — to  make  as  little  fuss  as  possible — that 
had  been  her  code;  but  now,  the  same  restraint  that 
had  held  Marg  from  going  to  the  Hollow  awhile  back, 
when  she  thought  that,  with  night,  Burke  Lawson 
might  disclose  his  whereabouts,  held  Nella-Rose! 
So  insistent  was  the  rising  argument  that  it  angered 
the  girl.  "Why?  Why?"  her  longings  and  desires 
cried.  "Because!  Because!"  was  the  stern  re- 
sponse, and  the  woman  in  Nella-Rose  thrilled  and 
throbbed  and  trembled,  while  the  girlish  spirit  pleaded 


86  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

for  the  excitement  of  joy  and  sweetness  that  was 
making  the  grim  stretches  of  her  narrow  existence 
radiant  and  full  of  meaning. 

On  she  went  doggedly.  The  dimples  disappeared; 
the  mouth  fell  into  the  pathetic,  drooping  lines  that 
by  and  by,  unless  something  saved  Nella-Rose, 
would  become  permanent  and  mark  her  as  a  hill- 
woman — one  to  whom  soul  visions  were  denied. 


CHAPTER  VI 

WISDOM  had  all  but  conquered  Nella- Rose's 
folly  when  she  came  in  sight  of  Calvin  Mer- 
rivale's  store.  But — who  knows  ? — perhaps 
the  girl's  story  had  been  written  long  since,  and  she 
was  not  entirely  free.  Be  that  as  it  may,  she  paused, 
for  no  reason  whatever  as  far  as  she  could  tell,  and 
carefully  took  one  dozen  eggs  from  the  basket  and 
hid  them  under  some  bushes  by  the  road!  Having 
done  this  she  went  forward  so  blithely  and  lightly 
that  one  might  have  thought  her  load  had  been 
considerably  eased.  She  appeared  before  Calvin 
Merrivale,  presently,  like  a  refreshing  apparition 
from  vacancy.  It  was  high  noon  and  Merrivale  was 
dozing  in  a  chair  by  the  rusty  stove,  in  which  a  fire, 
prepared  against  the  evening  chill,  was  already  burn- 
ing. 

"How-de,  Mister  Merrivale?"  Calvin  sprang  to 
his  feet. 

"  If  it  ain't  lil'  Nella-Rose.  How'se  you-all  ? " 
"Right  smart.  I've  brought  you  three  dozen 
eggs  and  ten  pounds  of  pork."  Nella-Rose  almost 
said  po'k — not  quite!  "And  you  must  be  mighty 
generous  with  me  when  you  weigh  out — let  me  see!— 
oh,  yes,  pepper,  salt,  and  sugar." 

87 


88  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"I'll  lay  a  siftin'  more  in  the  scale,  Nella-Rose,  on 
'count  o'  yo'  enjoyin'  ways.  But  I  can't  make  this 
out" — he  was  counting  the  eggs — "yo'  said  three 
dozen  aigs?" 

"Three  dozen,  and  ten  pounds  of  pork!"  This 
very  firmly. 

Merrivale  counted  again  and  as  he  did  so  Nella- 
Rose  remembered!  The  red  came  to  her  face — the 
tears  to  her  ashamed  eyes. 

"Stop!"  she  said  softly,  going  close  to  the  old  man. 
"I  forgot.  I  took  one  dozen  out!" 

Merrivale  stood  and  looked  at  her  and  then,  what 
he  thought  was  understanding,  came  to  his  assis- 
tance. 

"Who  fo',  Nella-Rose,  who  fo'?" 

There  was  no  reply  to  this. 

"Yo'  needn't  be  afraid  to  open  yo'  mind  ter  me, 
Nella-Rose.  Keeping  sto*  is  a  mighty  help  in  gettin' 
an  all-around  knowin'  o'  things.  Folks  jest  naterally 
come  here  an'  talk  an'  jest  naterally  I  listen,  an' 
'twixt  Jim  White,  the  sheriff,  an'  old  Merrivale,  there 
ain't  much  choosin',  jedgmatically  speakin'.  I  know 
White's  off  an'  plannin'  ter  round  up  Burke  Lawson 
from  behind,  as  it  war.  T'warnt  so  in  my  day,  lil' 
Nella-Rose.  When  we-uns  had  a  reckonin  comin', 
we  naterally  went  out  an'  shot  our  man;  but  these 
torn-down  scoundrels  like  Jed  Martin  an'  his  kind 
they  trap  'em  an'  send  'em  to  worse'n  hell.  Las' 
night" — and  here  Merrivale  bent  close  to  Nella- 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  89 

Rose — "my  hen  coop  was  'tarnally  gone  through, 
an'  a  bag  o'  taters  lifted.  I  ain't  makin'  no  cry-out. 
I  ain't  forgot  the  year  o'  the  fever  an' — an' — well, 
yo'  know  who — took  care  o'  me  day  an'  night  till  I 
saw  faces  an'  knew  'em!  What's  a  matter  o'  a  hen 
o'  two  an'  a  sack  o'  taters  when  lined  up  agin  that 
fever  spell  ?  I  tell  yo',  Nella-Rose,  if  yo'  say  thar  war 
three  dozen  aigs,  thar  war  three  dozen  aigs,  an'  we'll 
bargain  accordin'!" 

And  now  the  dimples  came  slowly  to  the  relieved 
face. 

"I'll — I'll  bring  you  an  extra  dozen  right  soon, 
Mister  Merrivale." 

"I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  flex  my  soul  'bout  that,  Nella- 
Rose.  Aigs  is  aigs,  but  human  nater  is  human  nater; 
an'  keepin'  a  store  widens  yo'  stretch  o'  vision.  Now, 
watch  out,  HI'  girl,  an'  don't  take  too  much  fo' 
granted.  When  a  gun  goes  off  yo'  hear  it;  but  when 
skunks  trail,  yo*  don't  get  no  sign,  'less  it's  a  smell!" 

Nella-Rose  took  her  packages,  smiled  her  thanks, 
and  ran  on.  She  ate  her  lunch  by  the  bushes  where 
the  eggs  lay  hidden,  then  depositing  in  the  safe  shel- 
ter the  home  bundles  Merrivale  had  so  generously 
weighed,  she  put  the  eggs  in  the  basket,  packed  with 
autumn  leaves,  and  turned  into  the  trail  leading  away 
from  the  big  road. 

Through  the  bare  trees  the  clear  sky  shone  like  a 
shield  of  blue-gray  metal.  It  was  a  sky  open  for 
storm  to  come  and  pass  unchecked.  The  very  still- 


90  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

ness  and  calm  were  warnings  of  approaching  distur- 
bance. Nature  was  listening  and  waiting  for  the 
breaking  up  of  autumn  and  the  clutch  of  frost. 

It  was  only  two  miles  from  the  Centre  to  White's 
clearing  and  the  afternoon  was  young  when  Nella- 
Rose  paused  at  the  foot  of  the  last  climb  and  took 
breath  and  courage.  There  was  a  tangled  mass  of 
rhododendrons  by  the  edge  of  the  wood  and  sud- 
denly the  girl's  eyes  became  fixed  upon  it  and  her 
heart  beat  wildly.  Something  alive  was  crouching 
there,  though  none  but  a  trained  sense  could  have 
detected  it!  They  waited — the  hidden  creature 
and  the  quivering  girl!  Then  a  pair  of  eager,  sus- 
picious eyes  shone  between  the  dead  leaves  of  the 
bushes;  next  a  dark,  thin  face  peered  forth — it  was 
Burke  Lawson's!  Nella-Rose  clutched  her  basket 
closer — that  was  all.  After  a  moment  she  spoke 
softly,  but  clearly: 

"I'm  alone.  You're  safe.  How  long  have  you 
been  back?" 

"Mor'n  two  weeks!" 

Nella-Rose  started.  So  they  had  known  all  along, 
and  while  she  had  played  with  Marg  the  hunt  might 
at  any  moment  have  become  deadly  earnest. 

"More'n  two  weeks,"  Lawson  repeated. 

"Where?"     The  girl's  voice  was  hard  and  cold. 

"In  the  Holler.  Miss  Lois  Ann  helped — but 
Lord!  you  can't  eat  a  helpless  old  woman  out  of 
house  and  home.  Last  night— 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  91 

"Yes,  yes;  I  know.  And  oh,  Burke,  Mister 
Merrivale  hasn't  forgot — the  fever  and  your  good- 
ness. He  won't  give  you  up." 

"He  won't   need   to.     I'm   right   safe,   'cept    for 
food.     There's  an  old  hole,  back  of  a  deserted  still— 
I  can  even  have  a  bit  of  fire.     The  devil  himself 
couldn't  find  me.     After  a  time  I'm  going — 

"Where?     Where,  Burke?" 

"Nella-Rose,  would  you  come  with  me?  'Twas 
you  as  brought  me  back — I  had  to  come.  If  you 
will — oh!  my  doney-gal " 

"Stop!  stop,  Burke.  Some  one  might  be  near. 
No,  no;  I  couldn't  leave  the  hills — I'd  die  from  the 
longing,  you  know  that!" 

"If  I — dared  them  all — could  you  take  me,  Nella- 
Rose?  I'd  run  my  chances  with  you!  Night  and 
day  you  tug  and  pull  at  the  heart  o'  me,  Nella-Rose." 

Fear,  and  a  deeper  understanding,  drove  Nella- 
Rose  to  the  wrong  course. 

"When  you  dare  to  come  out — when  they-all 
let  you  stay  out — then  ask  me  again,  Burke  Lawson. 
I'm  not  going  to  sweetheart  with  one  who  dare  not 
show  his  head." 

Her  one  desire  was  to  get  Lawson  away;  she  must 
be  free! 

"Nella-Rose,  I'll  come  out  o'  this." 

"No!  no!"  the  girl  gasped,  "they're  not  after 
you  to  shoot  you,  Burke;  Jed  Martin  is  for  putting 
you  in  jail!" 


92  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"Good  God — the  sneaking  coward." 

"And  Jim  White  is  off  raising  a  posse,  he  means 
to — to  see  fair  play.  Wait  until  Jim  comes  back; 
then  give  yourself  up." 

"And  then— then,  Nella-Rose?" 

The  young,  keen  face  among  the  dead  leaves 
glowed  with  a  light  that  sent  the  blood  from  Nella- 
Rose's  heart. 

"See" — she  said  inconsequently — "I  have"  (she 
counted  them  out),  "I  have  a  dozen  eggs;  give  them 
to  Miss  Lois  Ann!" 

"Let  me  touch  you,  Nella-Rose!  Just  let  me 
touch  your  lil'  hand." 

"Wait  until  Jim  White  comes  back!" 

Then,  because  a  rabbit  scurried  from  its  shelter, 
Burke  Lawson  sank  into  his,  and  Nella-Rose  in 
mad  haste  took  to  the  trail  and  was  gone !  A  moment 
later  Lawson  peered  out  again  and  tried  to  decide 
which  way  she  went,  but  his  wits  were  confused— 
so  he  laughed  that  easy,  fearless  laugh  of  his  and  put 
in  his  hat  the  eggs  Nella-Rose  had  left.  Then,  crawl- 
ing and  edging  along,  he  retraced  his  steps  to  that 
hole  in  the  Hollow  where  he  knew  he  was  as  safe 
as  if  he  were  in  his  grave. 

With  distance  and  reassurance  on  her  side,  Nella- 
Rose  paused  to  take  breath.  She  had  been  thor- 
oughly frightened.  Her  beautiful  plans,  unsuspected 
by  all  the  world,  had  been  threatened  by  an  un- 
looked-for danger.  She  had  never  contemplated 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  93 

Burke  Lawson  as  a  complication.  She  was  living 
day  by  day,  hour  by  hour.  Jim  White  she  had  ac- 
cepted as  a  menace — but  Burke  never!  She  was 
no  longer  the  girl  Lawson  had  known,  but  how 
could  she  hope  to  make  him  understand  that?  Her 
tender,  love-seeking  nature  had,  in  the  past,  accepted 
the  best  the  mountains  offered — and  Burke  had 
been  the  best.  She  had  played  with  him — teased 
Marg  with  him — revelled  in  the  excitement,  but 
now  ?  Well,  the  blindness  had  been  torn  from 
her  eyes — the  shackles  from  her  feet.  No  one, 
nothing,  could  hold  her  from  her  own!  She  must 
not  be  defrauded  and  imprisoned  again! 

Yes,  that  was  it — imprisoned  just  when  she  had 
learned  to  use  her  wings ! 

Standing  in  the  tangle  of  undergrowth,  Nella- 
Rose  clenched  her  small  hands  and  raised  wide  eyes 
to  the  skies. 

"I  seem,"  she  panted — and  at  that  moment 
all  her  untamed  mysticism  swayed  her — "like  I 
was  going  along  the  tracks  in  the  dark  and  something 
is  coming — something  like  that  train  long  ago!" 

Then  she  closed  her  eyes  and  her  uplifted  face 
softened  and  quivered.  Behind  the  drooping  lids 
she  saw — Truedale!  Quite  vividly  he  materialized 
to  her  excited  fancy.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had 
ever  been  able  to  command  him  in  this  fashion. 

"I'm  going  to  him!"  The  words  were  like  a 
passionate  prayer  rather  than  an  affirmation.  "I'm 


94  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

going  to  follow  like  I  followed  long  ago!"  She 
clutched  the  basket  and  fled  along. 

And  while  this  was  happening,  Trued  ale,  in  his 
cabin,  was  working  as  he  had  not  worked  in  years. 
He  had  burned  all  his  bridges  and  outlying  outposts; 
he  was  waiting  for  White,  and  his  plans  were  com- 
pleted. He  meant  to  confide  everything  to  his  only 
friend — for  such  Jim  seemed  in  the  hazy  and  deso- 
lated present — then  he  would  marry  Nella-Rose 
ofF-hand;  there  must  be  a  minister  somewhere! 
After  that?  Well,  after  that  Truedale  grasped  his 
manuscript  and  fell  to  work  like  one  inspired. 

Lynda  Kendall  would  never  have  known  the 
play  in  its  present  form.  Truedale's  ideal  had  al- 
ways been  to  portray  a  free  woman — a  super- 
woman;  one  who  had  evolved  into  the  freedom 
from  shattered  chains.  He  now  had  a  heroine  free, 
in  that  she  had  never  been  enslaved.  If  one  greater 
than  he  had  put  a  soul  in  a  statue,  Truedale  be- 
lieved that  he  could  awaken  a  child  of  nature  and 
show  her  her  own  beautiful  soul.  He  had  outlined, 
a  time  back,  a  sylvan  Galatea;  and  now,  as  he  sat 
in  the  still  room,  the  framework  assumed  form  and 
substance;  it  breathed  and  moved  him  divinely. 
It  and  he  were  alone  in  the  universe;  they  were  to 
begin  the  world — he  and— 

Just  then  the  advance  messenger  of  the  coming 
change  of  weather  entered  by  way  of  a  lowered  win- 
dow. It  was  a  smart  little  breeze  and  it  flippantly 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  95 

sent  the  ashes  flying  on  the  hearth  and  several  sheets 
of  paper  broadcast  in  the  room.  Truedale  sprang 
to  recover  his  treasures;  he  caught  four  or  five,  but 
one  escaped  his  notice  and  floated  toward  the  door, 
which  was  ajar. 

"Whew!"  he  ejaculated,  "that  was  a  narrow 
escape,"  and  he  began  to  sort  and  arrange  the  sheets 
on  the  table. 

"Sixty,  sixty-one,  sixty-two.  Now  where  in 
thunder  is  that  sixty-three?" 

A  light  touch  on  his  arm  made  him  spring  to  his 
feet,  every  nerve  a-tingle. 

"Here  it  is!  It  seemed  like  it  came  to  meet 
me." 

"Nella-Rose!' 

The  girl  nodded,  holding  out  the  paper. 

"So  you  have  come?     Why — did  you?" 

The  dimples  came  into  play  and  Truedale  stood 
watching  them  while  many  emotions  flayed  him;  but 
gradually  his  weakness  passed  and  he  was  able  to 
assume  an  extremely  stern  though  kindly  manner. 
He  meant  to  set  the  child  right;  he  meant  to  see 
only  the  child  in  her  until  White  returned;  he  would 
ignore  the  perilously  sweet  woman-appeal  to  his 
senses  until  such  time  as  he  could,  with  safety,  let 
them  once  more  hold  part  in  their  relations  with 
each  other. 

But  even  as  he  arrived  at  this  wise  conclu- 
sion, he  was  noting,  as  often  before  he  had  noted, 


96  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

the  fascinating  colour  and  quality  of  Nella-Rose's 
hair.  It  was  both  dark  and  light.  If  smoke  were 
filled  with  sunlight  it  would  be  something  like  the 
mass  of  more  or  less  loosened  tendrils  that  crowned 
the  girl's  pretty  head.  Stern  resolve  began  to  melt 
before  the  girlish  sweetness  and  audacity,  but  True- 
dale  made  one  last  struggle;  he  thought  of  staunch 
and  true  Brace  Kendall!  And,  be  it  to  Brace  Ken- 
dall's credit,  the  course  Conning  endeavoured  to  take 
was  a  wise  one. 

"See  here,  Nella-Rose,  you  ought  not  to  come  here 
-alone!" 

"Why?     Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me?" 

"Of  course.  But  why  did  you  come?"  This 
was  risky.  Truedale  recognized  it  at  once. 

"Just  to  say — 'how-de'!  You  certainly  do  look 
scroogy." 

At  this  Truedale  laughed.  Nella-Rose's  capacity 
for  bringing  forth  his  happier,  merrier  nature  was 
one  of  her  endearing  charms. 

"You  didn't  come  just  for  that,  Nella-Rose!" 
This  with  stern  disapproval. 

"Take  off  the  scroogy  face — then  I'll  tell  you  why 
I  came." 

"Verywell!"     Truedale  smiled  weakly.     "Why?" 

"I'm  right  hungry.     I — I  want  a  party." 

Of  course  this  would  never  do.  White,  or  one 
of  the  blood-and-thunder  raiders,  might  appear. 

"You  must  go,  Nella-Rose." 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  97 

"Not" — here  she  sat  down  firmly  and  undid 
her  ridiculous  plaid  shawl — "not  till  you  give  me  a 
bite.  Just  a  mighty  little  bite — I'm  starving!" 

At  this  Truedale  roared  with  laughter  and  went 
hurriedly  to  his  closet.  The  girl  must  eat  and— 
go.  Mechanically  he  set  about  placing  food  upon 
the  table.  Then  he  sat  opposite  Nella-Rose  while 
she  ate  with  frank  enjoyment  the  remains  of  his 
own  noon-day  meal.  He  could  not  but  note,  as 
he  often  did,  the  daintiness  with  which  she  accom- 
plished  the  task.  Other  women,  as  Truedale  re- 
membered,  were  not  prepossessing  when  attacking 
food;  but  this  girl  made  a  gracious  little  ceremony  of 
the  affair.  She  placed  the  small  dishes  in  orderly 
array  before  her;  she  poised  herself  lightly  on  the 
X.  edge  of  the  chair  and  nibbled — there  was  no  other 
*"l  word  for  it — as  a  perky  little  chipmunk  might,  t}ie 
morsels  she  raised  gracefully  to  her  mouth.  She 
was  genuinely  hungry  and  for  a  few  minutes  devoted 
her  attention  to  the  matter  in  hand. 

Then,  suddenly,  Nella-Rose  did  something  that 
shattered  the  last  scrap  of  self-control  that  was 
associated  with  the  trusty  Kendall  and  his  good 
example.  She  raised  a  bit  of  food  on  her  fork  and 
held  it  out  to  Truedale,  her  lovely  eyes  looking  wist- 
fully into  his. 

"Please!  I  feel  so  ornery  eating  alone.  I  want 
to — share!  Please  play  party  with  me!" 

Truedale  tried  to  say  "I  had  my  dinner  an  hour 


98  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

ago";  instead,  he  leaned  across  his  folded  arms 
and  murmured,  as  if  quite  outside  his  own  volition: 

"I— I  love  you!" 

Nella-Rose  dropped  the  fork  and  leaned  back. 
Her  lids  fell  over  the  wide  eyes — the  smile  faded 
from  her  lips. 

"Do  you  belong  to  any  one — else,  Nella-Rose?" 

"No — oh!  no."     This  like  a  frightened  cry. 

"But  others — some  one  must  have  told  you — 
of  love.  Do  you  know  what  love  means  ? " 

"Yes." 

"How?" 

And  now  she  looked  at  him.  Her  eyes  were 
dark,  her  face  deadly  pale;  her  lips  were  so  red  that 
in  the  whiteness  they  seemed  the  only  trace  of 
colour. 

"How  do  I  know?  -Why  because — nothing  else 
matters.  It  seems  like  I've  been  coming  all  my  life 
to  it — and  now  it  just  says:  'Here  I  am,  Nella-Rose 
—here'!" 

"I,  too,  have  been  coming  to  it  all  my  life,  little 
girl.  I  did  not  know — I  was  driven.  I  rebelled, 
because  I  did  not  know;  but  nothing  else  does  matter, 
when — love  gets  you!" 

"No.  Nothing  matters."  The  girl's  voice  was 
rapt  and  dreamy.  Truedale  put  his  hands  across 
the  space  dividing  them  and  took  hold  of  hers. 

"You  will  be— mine,  Nella-Rose?" 

"Seems  like  I  must  be!" 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST  99 

"Yes.  Doesn't  it?  Do  you — you  must  under- 
stand, dear?  I  mean  to  live  the  rest  of  my  life  here 
in  the  hills — your  hills.  You  once  said  one  was  of 
the  hills  or  one  wasn't;  will  they  let  me  stay?" 

"Yes" — almost  fiercely— "but — but  your  folks 
—off  there — will  they  let 'you  stay?" 

"I  have  no  folks,  Nella-Rose.  I'm  lonely  and 
poor — at  least  I  was  until  I  found  you!  The  hills 
have  given  me — everything;  I  mean  to  serve  them 
well  in  return.  I  want  you  for  my  wife,  Nella-Rose; 
we'll  make  a  home — somewhere — it  doesn't  matter; 

it  will  be  a  shelter  for  our  love  and "  He  stopped 

short.  Reality  and  conventions  made  a  last  vain 
appeal.  "I  don't  want  you  ever  again  to  go  out  of 
my  sight.  You're  mine  and  nothing  could  make 
that  different — but"  (and  this  came  quickly,  des- 
perately) "there  must  be  a  minister  somewhere — 
let's  go  to  him !  Do  not  let  us  waste  another  precious 
day.  When  he  makes  you  mine  by  his" — Truedale 
was  going  to  say  "ridiculous  jargon"  but  he  modified 
it  to — "his  authority,  no  one  in  all  God's  world  can 
take  you  from  me.  Come,  come  now,  sweetheart!" 

In  another  moment  he  would  have  had  her  in  his 
arms,  but  she  held  him  off. 

"I'm  mighty  afraid  of  old  Jim  White!"  she  said. 

Truedale  laughed,  but  the  words  brought  him  to 
his  senses. 

"Then  you  must  go,  darling,  until  White  returns. 
After  I  have  explained  to  him  I  will  come  for  you, 


ioo  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

but  first  let  me  hold  you — so!  and  kiss  you — so! 
This  is  why — you  must  go,  my  love!'* 

She  was  in  his  arms,  her  lifted  face  pressed  to 
his.  She  shivered,  but  clung  to  him  for  a  moment 
and  two  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks — the  first  he 
had  ever  seen  escape  her  control.  He  kissed  them 
away. 

"Of  what  are  you  thinking,  Nella-Rose?" 

"Thinking?     I'm  not  thinking;  I'm — happy!" 

"My — sweetheart!"  Again  Truedale  pressed  his 
lips  to  hers. 

"Us-all  calls  sweetheart — '  doney-gal ' ! " 

"My — my  doney-gal,  then!" 

"And" — the  words  came  muffled,  for  Truedale 
was  holding  her  still — "and  always  I  shall  see  your 
face,  now.  It  came  to-day  like  it  came  long  ago.  It 
will  always  come  and  make  me  glad." 

Truedale  lifted  her  from  his  breast  and  held  her 
at  arms'  length.  He  looked  deep  into  her  eyes, 
trying  to  pierce  through  her  ignorance  and  childish- 
ness to  find  the  elusive  woman  that  could  meet  and 
bear  its  part  in  what  lay  before.  Long  they  gazed 
at  each  other — then  the  light  in  Nella-Rose's  face 
quivered — her  mouth  drooped. 

"I'm  going  now,"  she  said,  "going  till  Jim  White 
comes  back." 

"Wait— my " 

But  the  girl  had  slipped  from  his  grasp;  she  was 
gone  into  the  misty,  threatening  grayness  that 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST  101 

had  closed  in  about  them  while  love  had  carried 
them  beyond  their  depths.  Then  the  rain  began 
to  fall — heavy,  warning  drops.  The  wind,  too,  was 
rising  sullenly  like  a  monster  roused  from  its  sleep 
and  slowly  gathering  power  to  vent  its  rage. 

Into  this  darkening  storm  Nella-Rose  fled  un- 
heedingly.  She  was  not  herself — not  the  girl  of 
the  woods,  wise  in  mountain  lore;  she  was  bewitched 
and  half  mad  with  the  bewildering  emotions  that, 
at  one  moment  frightened  her — the  next,  carried 
her  closer  to  the  spiritual  than  she  had  ever  been. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A)NE  in  his  cabin,  Truedale  was  conscious  of 
a  sort  of  groundless  terror  that  angered  him. 
The  storm  could  not  account  for  it — he  had 
the  advantage  of  ignorance  there!  Certainly  his  last 
half-hour  could  not  be  responsible  for  his  sensations. 
He  justified  every  minute  of  it  by  terms  as  old  as 
man's  desires  and  his  resentment  of  restrictions.  "Our 
lives  are  our  own!"  he  muttered,  setting  to  work  to 
build  a  fire  and  to  light  the  lamp.  "They  will  all 
come  around  to  my  way  of  seeing  things  when  I 
have  made  good  and  taken  her  back  to  them!" 

Still  this  arguing  brought  no  peace,  and  more 
and  more  Truedale  found  himself  relying  upon  Jim 
White's  opinions.  In  that  troubled  hour  the  sheriff 
stood  like  a  rugged  sign  post  in  the  path.  One  un- 
flinching finger  pointed  to  the  past;  the  other — to 
the  future. 

"Well!  I've  chosen,"  thought  Truedale;  "it's 
the  new  way  and — thank  God!"  But  he  felt  that 
the  future  could  be  made  possible  or  miserable  by 
Jim's  favour  or  disapproval. 

Having  decided  to  follow  upon  White's  counsel, 
Truedale  mentally  prayed  for  his  return,  and  at  once. 
The  fact  was,  Truedale  was  drugged  and  he  had  just 

102 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  103 

sense  enough  left  to  know  it!  He  vaguely  realized 
that  the  half-hour  with  Nella-Rose  had  been  a  dan- 
gerous epoch  in  his  life.  He  was  safe,  thank  heaven! 
but  he  dared  not  trust  himself  just  now  without  a 
stronger  will  to  guide  him! 

While  he  busied  himself  at  feeding  the  animals, 
preparing  and  clearing  away  his  own  evening  meal, 
he  grew  calmer.  The  storm  was  gaining  in  fury — 
and  he  was  thankful  for  it!  He  was  shut  away  from 
possible  temptation;  he  even  found  it  easy  to  think 
of  Kendall  and  of  Lynda,  but  he  utterly  eliminated 
his  uncle  from  his  mind.  Between  him  and  old 
William  Truedale  the  gulf  seemed  to  have  become 
impassable! 

And  while  Truedale  sank  into  an  unsafe  mental 
calm,  Nella-Rose  pushed  her  way  into  the  teeth 
of  the  storm  and  laughed  and  chattered  like  a  mad 
and  lost  little  nymph.  Wind  and  rain  always  ex- 
hilarated her  and  the  fury  of  the  elements,  gaining 
force  every  minu.te,  did  not  alarm  her  while  the 
memory  of  her  great  experience  held  sway  over  her. 
She  shook  her  hair  back  from  her  wide,  vague  eyes. 
She  was  undecided  where  to  go  for  the  night — it  did 
not  matter  greatly;  to-morrow  she  would  go  again 
to  Truedale,  or  he  would  come  to  her.  At  last  she 
settled  upon  seeking  the  shelter  of  old  Lois  Ann, 
in  Devil-may-come  Hollow,  and  turned  in  that  di- 
rection. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  then  and  Truedale,  with  his 


104  THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 

books  and  papers  on  the  table  before  him,  declared: 
"I  am  quite  all  right  now,"  and  fell  to  work  upon 
the  manuscript  that  earlier  had  engrossed  him. 

As  the  time  sped  by  he  was  able  to  visualize 
the  play;,  he  was  sitting  in  the  audience — he  beheld 
the  changing  scenes  and  the  tense  climax.  He  even 
began  to  speculate  upon  the  particular  star  that 
would  be  fitted  for  the  leading  part.  His  one  ex- 
travagance, in  the  past,  had  been  cut-rate  seats  in 
the  best  theatres. 

Suddenly  the  mood  passed  and  all  at  once  True- 
dale  realized  that  he  was  tired — deadly  tired.  The 
perspiration  stood  on  his  forehead — he  ached  from 
the  strain  of  cramped  muscles.  Then  he  looked 
at  his  watch;  it  was  eleven  o'clock!  The  stillness 
out  of  doors  bespoke  a  sullen  break  in  the  storm. 
A  determined  drip-drip  from  roof  and  trees  was 
like  the  ticking  of  a  huge  clock  running  down,  but 
good  for  some  time.  The  fire  had  died  out,  not  a 
bit  of  red  showed  in  the  ashes,  but  the  room  was  hot, 
still.  Truedale  decided  to  go  to  bed  without  it, 
and,  having  come  to  that  conclusion,  he  bent  his 
head  upon  his  folded  arms  and  sank  into  a  deep 
sleep. 

Suddenly  he  awoke.  The  room  was  cold  and 
dark!  The  lamp  had  burned  itself  out  and  the 
storm  was  again  howling  in  its  second  attack.  Chilled 
and  obsessed  by  an  unnerving  sense  of  danger,  True- 
dale  waited  for — he  knew  not  what!  Just  then 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  105 

something  pressed  against  his  leg  and  he  put  his 
hand  down  thinking  one  of  the  dogs  was  crouching 
close,  but  a  whispered  "sh!"  set  every  muscle  tense. 

"Nella-Rose?" 

"Yes — but,  oh!  be  mighty  still.  They  may  be 
here  any  minute." 

"They?     Who?" 

"All  of  them.  Jed  Martin,  my  father,  and  the 
others — the  ones  who  are  friends  of — of— 

"Whom,  Nella-Rose?" 

"Burke  Lawson!  He's  back — and  they  think — 
oh!  they  think  they  are  on  his  trail — here!  I — I 
was  trying  to  get  away  but  the  streams  were  swollen 
and  the  big  trees  were  bending  and — and  I  hid  be- 
hind a  rock  and — I  heard! 

"First  it  was  Jed  and  father;  they  said  they  were 
going  to  shoot — they'd  given  up  catching  Burke 
alive!  Then  they  went  up-stream  and  the — the 
others  came — the  friends,  and  they  'lowed  that  Burke 
was  here  and  they  meant  to  get  here  before  Jed  and 
— and  do  some  killing  on  their  side.  I — I  thought 
it  was  fun  when  they-all  meant  to  take  Burke  alive, 
but  now — oh!  now  can't  you  see? — they'll  shoot  and 
find  out  afterward!  They  may  come  any  minute! 
I  put  the  light  out.  Come,  we  must  leave  the  cabin 
empty-looking — like  you  had  gone — and  hide!" 

The  breathless  whispering  stopped  and  Truedale 
collected  his  senses  in  the  face  of  this  real  danger. 

"But  you — you  must  not  be  here,  Nella-Rose!" 


106  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

Every  nerve  was  alert  now.  "This  is  pure  madness. 
Great  heavens!  what  am  I  going  to  do  with  you?" 

The  seriousness  of  the  situation  overpowered  him. 

"Sh!"  The  warning  was  caused  by  the  restless- 
ness of  the  dogs  outside.  Their  quick  ears  were 
sensing  danger  or — the  coming  of  their  master! 
Either  possibility  was  equally  alarming. 

"Oh!  you  do  not  understand,"  Nella-Rose  was 
pleading  by  his  knee.  "If  they-all  see  you,  they 
will  have  you  killed  that  minute.  Burke  is  the  only 
one  in  their  minds — they  don't  even  know  that  you 
live;  they're  too  full  of  Burke,  and  if  they  see  me — 
why — they'd  kill  you  anyway." 

"But  what  can  I  do  with  you?"  That  thought 
alone  swayed  Trued  ale. 

Then  Nella-Rose  got  upon  her  feet  and  stood 
close  to  him. 

"I'm  yours!  I  gave  myself  to  you.  You — you 
wanted  me.  Are  you  sorry?" 

The  simple  pride  and  dignity  went  straight  to 
Truedale's  heart. 

"It's  because  I  want  you  so,  little  girl,  that  I  must 
save  you." 

Somehow  Nella-Rose  seemed  to  have  lost  her 
fear  of  the  oncoming  raiders;  she  spoke  deliberately, 
and  above  a  whisper: 

"Save  me? — from  what?" 

There  were  no  words  to  convey  to  her  his  meaning. 
Truedale  felt  almost  ashamed  to  hold  it  in  his 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  107 

own  mind.-  They  so  inevitably  belonged  to  each 
other;  why  should  they  question? 

"I — I  shall  not  go  away — again!" 

"My  darling,  you  must.'* 

"Where?" 

The  word  brought  him  to  his  senses — where, 
indeed?  With  the  dark  woods  full  of  armed  men 
ready  to  fire  at  any  moving  thing  in  human  shape, 
he  could  not  let  her  go!  That  conclusion  reached, 
and  all  anchors  cut,  the  danger  and  need  of  the  hour 
claimed  him. 

"Yes;  you  are  mine!"  he  whispered,  gathering 
her  to  him.  "What  does  anything  matter  but  our 
safety  to-night?  To-morrow;  well,  to-morrow 

"Sh!" 

No  ear  but  one  trained  to  the  secrets  of  the  still 
places  could  have  detected  a  sound. 

"They  are  coming!  Yes,  not  the  many — it  is 
Jed !  Come !  While  you  slept  I  carried  a  right  many 
things  to  the  rhododendron  slick  back  of  the  house! 
See,  push  over  the  chair — leave  the  door  open  like 
you'd  gone  away  before  the  storm." 

Quickly  and  silently  Nella-Rose  suited  action  to 
word.  Truedale  watched  her  like  one  bewitched. 
"Now!"  She  took  him  by  the  hand  and  the  next 
minute  they  were  out  on  the  wet,  sodden  leaves; 
the  next  they  were  crouching  close  under  the  bushes 
where  even  the  heavy  rain  had  not  penetrated. 
Half-consciously  Truedale  recognized  some  of  his 


io8  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

property  near  by — his  clothing,  two  or  three  books, 
and — yes — it  was  his  manuscript!  The  white  roll 
was  safe!  How  she  must  have  worked  while  he 
slept. 

Once  only  did  she  speak  until  danger  was  past. 
Nestling  close  in  his  arms,  her  head  upon  his  shoulder, 
she  breathed: 

"If  they-all  shoot,  we'll  die  together!" 

The  unreality  of  the  thing  gradually  wore  upon 
Truedale's  tense  nerves.  If  anything  was  going  to 
happen  he  wanted  it  to  happen!  In  another  half- 
hour  he  meant  to  put  an  end  to  the  farce  and  move 
his  belongings  back  to  the  cabin  and  take  Nella- 
Rose  home.  It  was  a  nightmare — nothing  less! 

"Sh!"  and  then  the  waiting  was  over.  Two 
dark  figures,  guns  ready,  stole  from  the  woods  be- 
hind White's  cabin.  Where  were  the  dogs?  Why 
did  they  not  speak  out? — but  the  dogs  were  trained 
to  be  as  silent  as  the  men.  They  were  all  part  and 
parcel  of  the  secret  lawlessness  of  the  hills.  In  the 
dim  light  Truedale  watched  the  shadowy  forms 
enter  Jim's  unlocked  cabin  and  presently  issue  forth, 
evidently  convinced  that  the  prey  was  not  there — 
had  not  been  there!  Then  as  stealthy  as  Indians 
they  made  their  way  to  the  other  cabin — Truedale's 
late  shelter.  They  kept  to  the  bushes  and  the  edge 
of  the  woods — they  were  like  creeping  animals  until 
they  reached  the  shack;  then,  standing  erect  and 
close,  they  went  in  the  doorway.  So  near  was  the 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST  109 

hiding  place  of  Truedale  and  his  companion  that 
they  could  hear  the  oaths  of  the  hunters  as  they 
became  aware  that  their  quarry  had  escaped. 

"He's  been  here,  all  right!"  It  was  Jed  Martin 
who  spoke. 

"I  reckon  he's  caught  on,"  Peter  Greyson  drawled, 
"he's  makin'  for  Jim  White.  White  ain't  more'n 
fifteen  miles  back;  we  can  cut  him  off,  Jed,  'fore  he 
reaches  safety — the  skunk!" 

Then  the  two  emerged  from  the  cabin  and  strode 
boldly  away. 

"The  others!"  whispered  Truedale — "will  they 
come  ? " 

"Wait!" 

There  was  a  stir — a  trampling — but  apparently 
the  newcomers  did  not  see  Martin  and  Greyson. 
There  was  a  crackling  x)f  underbrush  by  feet  no 
longer  feeling  need  of  caution,  then  another  space 
of  silence  before  safety  was  made  sure  for  the  two 
in  the  bushes. 

At  last  Truedale  dared  to  speak. 

"Nella-Rose!"  He  looked  down  at  the  face 
upon  his  breast.  She  was  asleep — deeply,  exhaust- 
edly  asleep! 

Truedale  shifted  his  position.  He  was  cramped 
and  aching;  still  the  even  breathing  did  not  break. 
He  laid  her  down  gently  and  put  a  heavy  coat  about 
her — one  that  earlier  she  had  carried  from  the  cabin 
in  her  effort  to  save  him.  He  went  to  the  house  and 


no  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

grimly  set  to  work.  First  he  lighted  a  fire;  then  he 
righted  the  chairs  and  brought  about  some  order 
from  the  chaos.  He  was  no  longer  afraid  of  any 
man  on  God's  earth;  even  Jim  White  was  relegated 
to  the  non-essentials.  Truedale  was  merely  a  primi- 
tive creature  caring  for  his  own!  There  was  no 
turning  back  now — no  waiting  upon  conventions. 
When  he  had  made  ready  he  was  going  out  to  bring 
his  own  to  her  home! 

The  sullen,  soggy  night,  with  its  bursts  of  fury 
and  periods  of  calm,  had  settled  down,  apparently, 
to  a  drenching,  businesslike  rain.  The  natives  knew 
how  to  estimate  such  weather.  By  daylight  the 
streams  would  be  raging  rivers  on  whose  currents 
trees  and  animals  would  be  carried  ruthlessly  to  the 
lowlands.  Roads  would  be  obliterated  and  human 
beings  would  seek  shelter  wherever  they  could  find  it. 

But  Truedale  was  spared  the  worry  this  knowl- 
edge might  have  brought  him.  He  concentrated 
now  upon  the  present  and  grimly  accepted  condi- 
tions as  they  were.  All  power  or  inclination  for 
struggle  was  past;  the  inheritance  of  weakness  which 
old  William  Truedale  had  feared  and  with  which 
Conning  himself  had  so  contended  in  his  barren 
youth,  asserted  itself  and  prepared  to  take  unques- 
tioningly  what  the  present  offered. 

At  that  moment  Truedale  believed  himself  arbiter 
of  his  own  fate  and  Nella-Rose's.  Conditions 
had  forced  him  to  this  position  and  he  was  ready  to 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  in 

assume  responsibility.  There  was  no  alternative; 
he  must  accept  things  as  they  were  and  make  them 
secure  later  on.  For  himself  the  details  of  conven- 
tion did  not  matter.  He  had  always  despised  them. 
In  his  youthful  spiritual  anarchy  he  had  flouted 
them  openly;  they  made  no  claim  upon  his  atten- 
tion now,  except  where  Nella-Rose  was  concerned. 
Appearances  were  against  him  and  her,  but  none 
but  fools  would  allow  that  to  daunt  them.  He, 
Truedale,  felt  that  no  law  of  man  was  needed  to 
hold  him  to  the  course  he  had  chosen,  back  on  the 
day  when  he  determined  to  forsake  the  past  and 
fling  his  fortunes  in  with  the  new.  Never  in  his 
life  was  Conning  Truedale  more  sincere  or,  he  be- 
lieved, more  wise,  than  he  was  at  that  moment. 
And  just  then  Nella-Rose  appeared  coming  down 
the  rain-drenched  path  like  a  little  ghost  in  the  grim, 
gray  dawn.  She  still  wore  the  heavy  coat  he  had 
put  about  her,  and  her  eyes  were  dreamy  and  vague. 

Truedale  strode  toward  her  and  took  her  in  his  arms. 

"My  darling,"  he  whispered,  "are  you  able 
to  come  with  me  now — at  once — to  the  minister? 
It  must  be  now,  sweetheart — now!" 

She  looked  at  him  like  a  child  trying  to  understand 
his  mood. 

"Oh!"  she  said  presently,  "I  'most  forgot.  The 
minister  has  gone  to  a  burying  back  in  the  hills; 
he'll  be  gone  a  right  long  time.  Bill  Trim,  who 
carries  all  the  news,  told  me  to-day." 


ii2  THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 

"Where  is  he,  Nella-Rose?"  Something  seemed 
tightening  around  Truedale's  heart. 

"Us-all  don't  know;  he  left  it  written  on  his 
door." 

"Where  is  there  another  minister,  Nella-Rose?" 

"There  is  no  other." 

"This  is  absurd — of  course  there  is  another.  We 
must  start  at  once  and  find  him." 

"Listen!"  The  face  upon  Truedale's  breast  was 
lifted.  "You  hear  that?" 

"Yes.     What  is  it?"  Truedale  was  alarmed. 

"It  means  that  the  little  streams  are  rivers; 
it  means  that  the  trails  are  full  of  rocks  and  trees; 
it  means" — the  words  sank  to  an  awed  whisper — 
"it  means  that  we  must  fight  for  what  we-all  want 
to  keep." 

"Good  God!  Nella-Rose,  but  where  can  I  take 
you?" 

"There  is  no  place — but  here." 

It  seemed  an  hour  that  the  silence  lasted  while 
Truedale  faced  this  new  phase  and  came  to  his 
desperate  conclusion. 

Had  any  one  suggested  to  him  then  that  his 
decision  was  the  decision  of  weakness,  or  immemorial 
evil,  he  would  have  resented  the  thought  with 
bitterest  scorn.  Unknowingly  he  was  being  tempted 
by  the  devil  in  him,  and  he  fell;  he  had  only  himself 
to  look  to  for  salvation  from  his  mistaken  impulses, 
and  his  best  self,  unprepared,  was  drugged  by  the 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST  113 

overpowering  appeal  that  Nella-Rose  made  to  his 
senses. 

Standing  with  the  girl  in  his  arms;  listening  to  the 
oncoming  danger  which,  he  realized  at  last,  might 
destroy  him  and  her  at  any  moment;  bereft  of  every 
one — everything  that  could  have  held  them  to  the 
old  ideals;  Truedale  saw  but  one  course — and  took 
it. 

"There  is  no  place  but  here — no  one  but  you  and 
me!" 

The  soft  tones  penetrated  to  the  troubled  place 
where  Truedale  seemed  to  stand  alone  making  his 
last,  losing  fight. 

"Then,  by  heaven!"  he  said,  "let  us  accept  it — 
you  and  I!" 

He  had  crossed  his  Rubicon. 

They  ate,  almost  solemnly;  they  listened  to 
that  awful  roar  growing  more  and  more  distinct  and 
menacing.  Nella-Rose  was  still  and  watchful,  but 
Truedale  had  never  been  more  cruelly  alive  than 
he  was  then  when,  with  his  wider  knowledge,  he 
realized  the  step  he  had  taken.  Whether  it  were  for 
life  or  death,  he  had  blotted  out  effectually  all  that 
had  gone  to  the  making  of  the  man  he  once  was. 
Whatever  hope  he  might  have  had  of  making  Lynda 
Kendall  and  Brace  understand,  had  things  gone  as 
he  once  had  planned,  there  was  no  hope  now.  No 
— he  and  Nella-Rose  were  alone  and  helpless  in  the 
danger-haunted  hills.  He  and  she! 


n4  THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 

The  sun  made  an  effort  to  come  forth  later  but 
the  rush  and  roar  of  the  oncoming  torrent  seemed  to 
daunt  it.  For  an  hour  it  struggled,  then  gave  up. 
But  during  that  hour  Truedale  led  Nella-Rose  from 
the  house.  Silently  they  made  their  way  to  a  little 
hilltop  from  which  they  could  see  an  open  space  of 
dull,  leaden  sky.  There  Truedale  took  the  girl's 
hands  in  his  and  lifted  his  eyes  while  his  benumbed 
soul  sought  whatever  God  there  might  be. 

"In  Thy  sight,"  he  said  slowly,  deeply,  "I  take 
this  woman  for  my  wife.  Bless  us;  keep  us;  and" — 
after  a  pause — "deal  Thou  with  me  as  I  deal  with 
her." 

Then  the  earnest  eyes  dropped  to  the  frightened 
ones  searching  his  face. 

"You  are  mine!"  Truedale  spoke  commandingly, 
with  a  force  that  never  before  had  marked  him. 

"Yes."  The  word  was  a  faint,  frightened  whis- 
per. 

"My  darling,  kiss  me!" 

She  kissed  him  with  trembling  lips. 

"You  love  me?" 

"I— I  love  you." 

"You — you  trust  me?" 

"I — oh!  yes;  yes." 

"Then  come,  my  doney-gal!  For  life  or  death, 
it  is  you  and  I,  little  woman,  from  now  on!" 

Like  a  flash  his  gloom  departed.  He  was  gay, 
desperate,  and  free  of  all  hampering  doubts.  In 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  115 

such  a  mood  Nella-Rose  lost  all  fear  of  him  and 
walked  by  his  side  as  complacently  as  if  the  one 
minister  in  her  sordid  little  world  had  with  all  his 
strange  authority  said  his  sacred  "Amen"  over 
her. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THERE  were  five  days  of  terrific  storm. 
Truedale  and  Nella-Rose  had  fought  to 
save  White's  live  stock — even  his  cabin 
itself;  for  the  deluge  had  attacked  that  while  leav- 
ing safe  the  smaller  cabin  near  by.  All  one  morning 
they  had  worked  gathering  debris  and  placing  it 
so  that  it  turned  the  course  of  a  rapid  stream  that 
threatened  the  larger  house.  It  had  been  almost  a 
lost  hope,  but  as  the  day  wore  on  the  torrent  less- 
ened, the  rough  barrier  held — they  were  successful! 
The  gate  and  snake-fence  were  carried  away,  but 
the  rest  was  saved! 

In  the  strenuous  labour,  in  the  dangerous  isola- 
tion, the  ordinary  things  of  life  lost  their  importance. 
With  death  facing  them  their  love  and  com- 
panionship were  all  that  were  left  to  them  and 
neither  counted  the  cost.  But  on  the  sixth  day 
the  sun  shone,  the  flood  was  past,  and  with  safety 
and  the  sure  coming  of  Jim  White  at  hand,  they  sat 
confronting  each  other  in  a  silence  new  and  potent. 
"Sweetheart,  you  must  go — for  a  few  hours!" 
Truedale  bent  across  the  table  that  separated 
them  and  took  her  clasped  hands  in  his.~  He  had 
burned  all  his  social  bridges,  but  poor  Nella-Rose's 

116 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST  117 

progress  through  life  had  not  been  made  over  any- 
thing so  substantial  as  bridges.  She  had  proceeded 
by  scrambling  down  and  up  primitive  obstacles; 
she  felt  that  at  last  she  had  come  to  her  Land  of 
Promise. 

"You  are  going  to  send  me — away?     Where?" 

"Only  until  White  returns,  little  girl.  See  here, 
dear,  you  and  I  are  quite  gloriously  mad,  but  others 
are  stupidly  sane  and  we've  got  to  think  of  them." 

Truedale  was  talking  over  her  head,  but  already 
Nella-Rose  accepted  this  as  a  phase  of  their  new 
relations.  A  mountain  man  might  still  love  his 
woman  even  if  he  beat  her  and,  while  Nella-Rose 
would  have  scorned  the  suggestion  that  she  was  a 
mountain  woman,  she  did  seriously  believe  that 
men  were  different  from  women  and  that  was  the 
end  of  the  matter! 

"You  run  along,  small  girl  of  mine — the  skies 
are  clear,  the  sun  warm — but  I  want  you  to  meet 
me  at  three  o'clock  at  the  spot  where  the  trail  joins 
the  road.  I  will  be  there  and  I  will  wait  for  you." 

"But  why? — why?"  The  blue-gray  eyes  were 
troubled. 

"Sweetheart,  we're  going  to  find  that  minister 
of  yours  if  we  have  to  travel  from  one  end  of  the 
hills  to  the  other!" 

"But  we-all  are  married!"  This  with  a.  little 
gasp.  "Back  on  the  hill,  when  you  told  God  and 
said  He  understood;  then  we-all  were  married." 


n8  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"And  so  we  were,  my  sweet,  no  minister  could 
make  you  more  mine  than  you  already  are,  but  the 
others — your  people.  Should  they  try  to  separate  us 
they  might  cause  trouble  and  the  minister  can  make 
it  impossible  for  any  one  to  take  you  away  from  my 
love  and  care." 

And  at  that  moment  Truedale  actually  believed 
what  he  said.  In  his  heart  he  had  always  been  a 
rebel — defiant  and  impotent.  He  had,  in  this  in- 
stance, proved  his  theories;  but  he  did  not  intend 
to  leave  loose  ends  that  might  endanger  the  safety 
of  others — of  this  young  girl,  most  of  all.  He  was 
only  going  to  carry  out  his  original  plans  for  her 
safety — not  his  own.  After  the  days  just  past — 
days  of  anxiety,  relief,  and  the  proving  of  his  love 
and  hers — no  doubt  remained  in  Truedale's  heart; 
he  was  of  the  hills,  now  and  forever! 

"No  one  can — now!"  This  came  passionately 
from  Nella-Rose  as  she  watched  him. 

"They  might  make  trouble  until  they  found  that 
out.  They're  too  free  with  their  guns.  There's  a 
lot  to  explain,  little  doney-gal."  Conning  smiled 
down  her  doubts. 

"Until  three  o'clock!"  Nella-Rose  pouted,  "that's 
a  right  long  time.  But  I'll — just  run  along.  Always 
and  always  I'm  going  to  do  what  you  say!"  Al- 
ready his  power  over  her  was  absolute.  She  put 
her  arms  out  with  a  happy,  wilful  gesture  and  True- 
dale  held  her  closer. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  119 

"Only  until  three,  sweetheart." 

Nella-Rose  drew  herself  away  and  turned  to 
pick  up  her  little  shawl  and  hat  from  the  couch  by  the 
fire;  she  was  just  reaching  for  her  basket,  when  a 
shadow  fell  across  the  floor.  Truedale  and  the  girl 
turned  and  confronted — Jim  White!  What  he  had 
seen  and  heard — who  could  tell  from  his  expression- 
less face  and  steady  voice?  The  door  had  been  on 
the  latch  and  he  had  come  in! 

"Mail,  and  truck,  and  rabbits!"  he  explained, 
tossing  his  load  upon  the  table.  Then  he  turned 
toward  Truedale  as  if  noticing  him  for  the  first  time. 

"How-de?"  he  said.  Finally  his  gaze  shifted  to 
Nella-Rose  and  seemed  to  burn  into  her  soul. 

"Coin',  p'r'aps,  or — comin'?"  he  questioned. 

"I — I  am — going!"  Fright  and  dismay  marked 
the  girl's  voice.  Truedale  went  toward  her.  The 
covert  brutality  in  White's  words  shocked  and 
angered  him.  He  gave  no  thought  to  the  cause, 
but  he  resented  the  insult. 

"Wait!"  he  commanded,  for  Nella-Rose  was  gone 
through  the  open  door.  "Wait!" 

Seeing  that  she  had  for  the  moment  escaped 
him,  Truedale  turned  to  White  and  confronted  him 
with  clear,  angry  eyes. 

"What  have  you  got  to  say  for  yourself?"  he 
demanded  fiercely. 

The  shock  had  been  tremendous  for  Jim.  Three 
weeks  previously  he  had  left  his  charge  safe  and  alone; 


120  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

he  had  come  back  and  found But  shock  always 

stiffened  Jim  White;  that  was  one  reason  for  his 
success  in  life.  He  was  never  so  inflexible  and 
deadly  self-possessed  as  he  was  when  he  could  not 
see  the  next  step  ahead. 

"Gawd,  but  I'm  tired!"  he  said,  when  he  had 
stared  at  Truedale  as  long  as  he  cared  to,  "I'm 
going  over  to  my  place  to  turn  in.  Seems  like  I'll 
sleep  for  a  month  once  I  get  started." 

"You  don't  go,  White,  until  you  explain  what 
you  meant  by 

But  Truedale  mistook  his  man.  Jim,  having 
drawn  his  own  conclusion,  laughed  and  strode  to- 
ward the  door. 

"I  go  when  I'm  damned  pleased  ter  go!"  he  flung 
out  derisively,  "and  I  come  the  same  way,  young 
feller.  There's  mail  for  yo'  in  the  sack  and — a 
telegram."  White  paused  by  the  door  a  moment 
while  Truedale  picked  the  yellow  envelope  from  the 
bag  and  tore  it  open. 

"Your  uncle  died  suddenly  on  the  i6th.     Come 
at  once.     Vitally  important.     McPnERSON." 

For  a  moment  both  men  forgot  the  thing  that 
had  driven  them  wide  apart. 

"Bad  news?"  asked  the  sheriff". 

Something  was  happening  to  Truedale — he  felt 
as  if  the  effect  of  some  narcotic  were  losing  its 
power;  the  fevered  unreality  was  giving  place 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  121 

to  sensation  but  the  brain  was  recording  it 
dully. 

"What  date  is  this?"  he  asked,  dazed. 

"Twenty-fifth,"  Jim  replied  as  he  moved  out  of 
the  door. 

"When  can  I  get  a  train  from  the  station?" 

"There's  one  as  leaves  anywhere  'twixt  nine  and 
ten  ter-night." 

"That  gives  me  time  to  pack.  See  here,  White, 
while  it  isn't  any  of  your  business,  I  want  to  explain  a 
thing  or  two — before  I  go.  I'll  be  back  as  soon  as  I  can 
—in  a  week  or  ten  days  at  furthest.  When  I  return 
I  intend  to  stay  on,  probably  for  the  rest  of  my  life." 

White  still  held  Trued  ale  by  the  cold,  steely 
gleam  of  his  eyes  which  was  driving  lucidity  home 
to  the  dulled  brain.  By  a  power  as  unyielding  as 
death  Jim  was  destroying  the  screen  Truedale  had 
managed  to  raise  against  the  homely  codes  of  life 
and  was  leaving  his  guest  naked  and  exposed. 

The  shock  of  the  telegram — the  pause  it  evolved 
—had  given  Truedale  time  to  catch  the  meaning  of 
White's  attitude;  now  that  he  realized  it,  he  knew  he 
must  lay  certain  facts  open — he  could  not  wait  until 
his  return. 

Presently  Jim  spoke  from  outside  the  door. 

"I  ain't  settin'  up  for  no  critic.  I  ain't  by  nater  a 
weigher  or  trimmer  and  I  don't  care  a  durn  for  what 
ain't  my  business.  When  I  see  my  business  I  settle 
it  in  my  own  way!" — there  was  almost  a  warning  in 


122  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

this.  "I'm  dead  tired,  root  and  branch.  I'm  goin' 
ter  take  a  bite  an'  turn  in.  I  may  sleep  a  couple  o' 
days;  put  off  yo'  'splainifyin'  'til  yo'  come  back  ter 
end  yo'  days.  Take  the  mare  an'  leave  her  by  the 
trail;  she'll  come  home.  Tell  old  Doc  McPherson 
I  was  askin'  arter  him." 

By  that  time  Jim  had  ceased  scorching  his  way 
to  Truedale's  soul  and  was  on  the  path  to  his  own 
cabin. 

"Looks  like  yo'  had  a  tussle  with  the  storm,"  he 
remarked.  "Any  livin'  thing  killed?" 

"No." 

" Thank  yo'!"  Then,  as  if  determined  not  to 
share  any  further  confidence,  White  strode  on. 

For  a  moment  Truedale  stood  and  stared  after  his 
host  in  impotent  rage.  Was  Jim  White  such  a  lily 
of  purity  that  he  presumed  to  take  that  attitude? 
Was  the  code  of  the  hills  that  of  the  Romany  gypsies? 
How  dare  any  man  judge  and  sentence  another  with- 
out trial? 

The  effect  of  the  narcotic  still  worked  sluggishly, 
now  that  White's  irritating  presence  was  removed. 
Truedale  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned  to  his 
packing.  He  was  feverishly  eager  to  get  to  Nella- 
Rose.  Before  nightfall  she  would  be  his  before  the 
world;  in  two  weeks  he  would  be  back;  the  future 
would  shame  White  and  bring  him  to  his  senses. 
Jim  had  a  soft  heart;  he  was  just,  in  his  brutal  fashion. 
When  he  understood  how  matters  were,  he  would 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  123 

feel  like  the  fool  he  was — a  fool  willing  to  cast  a  man 
off,  unheard !  But  Truedale  blamed  himself  for  the 
hesitation  that  meant  so  much.  The  telegram — his 
fear  of  making  a  wrong  step — had  caused  the  grave 
mistake  that  could  not  be  righted  now. 

At  two  o'clock  Truedale  started — on  Jim's  mare! 
White's  cabin  had  all  the  appearance  of  being  barred 
against  intrusion.  Truedale  did  not  mean  to  test 
this,  but  it  hurt  him  like  a  blow.  However,  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  remedy,  as  soon  as  possible,  the 
error  he  had  permitted  to  arise.  No  man  on  earth 
could  make  Nella-Rose  more  his  than  his  love  and 
good  faith  had  made  her,  still  he  was  eager  now  to 
resort  to  all  the  time-honoured  safeguards  before  he 
left.  Once  married  he  would  go  with  a  heart  almost 
light.  He  would  confide  everything  to  Kendall  and 
Lynda — at  least  he  would  his  marriage — and  urge 
them  to  return  with  him  to  the  hills,  and  after  that 
White  and  all  the  others  would  have  an  awakening. 
The  possibility  thus  conceived  was  like  a  flood  of  light 
and  sweet  air  in  a  place  dark  and  bewildering  but  not 
evil — no,  not  that! 

As  he  turned  from  the  clearing  Truedale  looked 
back  at  his  cabin.  Nella-Rose  seemed  still  there. 
She  would  always  be  part  of  it  just  as  she  was  now 
part  of  his  life.  He  would  try  and  buy  the  cabin — 
it  would  be  sacrilege  for  others  to  enter! 

So  he  hurried  the  mare  on,  hoping  to  be  at  the 
crossing  before  Nella-Rose. 


124  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

The  crisp  autumn  air  was  redolent  of  pines  and 
the  significance  of  summer  long  past.  It  had  a 
physical  and  spiritual  power. 

Then  turning  suddenly  from  the  trail,  Truedale 
saw  Nella-Rose  sitting  on  a  rock — waiting!  She 
had  on  a  rough,  mannish-looking  coat,  and  a  coarse, 
red  hood  covered  her  bright  head.  Nella-Rose  was 
garbed  in  winter  attire.  She  had  worn  this  outfit 
for  five  years  and  it  looked  it. 

Never  again  was  Truedale  to  see  a  face  of  such 
radiant  joy  and  trust  as  the  girl  turned  upon  him. 
Her  eyes  were  wide  and  filled  with  a  light  that  startled 
him.  He  jumped  from  the  horse  and  took  her  in  his 
arms. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked,  fearing  some  intangible 
danger. 

:'The  minister  was  killed  by  the  flood!"  Nella- 
Rose's  tones  were  thrilling.  "He  was  going  through 
Devil-may-come  Hollow  and  a  mighty  big  rock 
struck  him  and— he's  dead!" 

"Then  you  must  come  with  me,  Nella-Rose." 
Truedale  set  his  lips  grimly;  there  was  no  time  to  lose. 
Between  three  and  nine  o'clock  surely  they  could 
locate  a  minister  or  a  justice  of  the  peace.  "  Come ! " 

"  But  why,  Mister  Man  ? "  She  laughed  up  at  him. 
"Where?" 

"It  doesn't  matter.  To  New  York  if  necessary. 
Jump  up!"  He  turned  to  the  horse,  holding  the  girl 
close. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  125 

"Me  go  away — in  this?  Me  shame  you  before — 
them-all?" 

Nella-Rose  stood  her  ground  and  throwing  the 
rough  coat  back  displayed  her  shabby,  shrunken 
dress. 

"I  went  home — they-all  were  away.  I  got  my 
warm  things,  but  I  have  a  white  dress  and  a  pink 

ribbon — I'll  get  them  to-morrow.     Then But 

why  must  we  go — away?" 

For  the  first  time  this  thought  caught  her — she  had 
been  whirled  along  too  rapidly  before  to  note  it. 

"I  have  had  word  that  my  uncle  is  dead.  I  must 
go  at  once,  my  dear,  and  you — you  must  come  with 
me.  Would  you  let  a  little  thing  like  a — a  dress 
weigh  against  our  love,  and  honour?" 

Above  the  native's  horror  of  being  dragged  from 
her  moorings  was  that  subtle  understanding  of 
honour  that  had  come  to  Nella-Rose  by  devious  ways 
from  a  source  that  held  it  sacred. 

"Honour?"  she  repeated  softly;  "honour?  If  I 
thought  I  had  to  go  in  rags  to  make  you  sure;  if  I 
thought  I  needed  to — I'd— 

Truedale  saw  his  mistake.  Realizing  that  if  in 
the  little  time  yet  his  he  made  her  comprehend,  he 
might  lose  more  than  he  could  hope  to  gain,  he  let 
her  free  while  he  took  a  card  and  pen  from  his  pocket. 
He  wrote  clearly  and  exactly  his  address,  giving  his 
uncle's  home  as  his. 

"Nella-Rose,"  he  said  calmly,  "I  shall  be  back  in 


126  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

two  or  three  weeks  at  the  latest,  but  if  at  any  mo- 
ment you  want  me,  send  word  here — telegraph  from 
the  station — you  come  first,  always!  You  are  wiser 
than  I,  my  sweet;  our  honour  and  love  are  our  own. 
Wait  for  me,  my  doney-gal  and — trust  me." 

She  was  all  joy  again — all  sweetness.  He  kissed 
her,  turned,  then  came  back. 

"Where  will  you  go,  my  darling?"  he  asked. 

"Since  they-all  do  not  know" — she  was  lying 
against  his  breast,  her  eyes  heavy  now  with  grief 
at  the  parting — "I  reckon  I  will  go  home — to  wait." 

Solemnly  Truedale  kissed  her  and  turned  dejectedly 
away.  Once  again  he  paused  and  looked  back. 
She  stood  against  the  tree,  small  and  shabby,  but  the 
late  afternoon  sun  transfigured  her.  In  the  gloomy 
setting  of  the  woods,  that  fair,  little  face  shone  like 
a  gleaming  star  and  so  Truedale  remembered  her  and 
took  her  image  with  him  on  his  lonely  way. 

Nella-Rose  watched  him  out  of  sight  and  then  she 
turned  and  did  something  that  well  might  make  one 
wonder  if  a  wise  God  or  a  cruel  demon  controls  our 
fates — she  ran  away  from  the  home  path  and  took 
the  trail  leading  far  back  to  the  cabin  of  old  Lois  Ann ! 

There  was  safety;  there  were  compassion  and 
comprehension.  The  old  woman  could  tell  mar- 
vellous tales  and  so  could  beguile  the  waiting 
days.  Nella-Rose  meant  to  confide  in  her  and  ask 
her  to  hide  her  until  Truedale  came  for  her.  It  was 
a  sudden  inspiration  and  it  brought  relief. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  127 

And  that  night — it  was  past  midnight  and  cold 
as  the  north  land — Burke  Lawson  came  face  to  face 
with  Jed  Martin!  Lawson  was  issuing  from  his 
cranny  behind  the  old  still  and  Martin  was  nosing 
about  alone.  He,  like  a  hungry  thing  of  the  wilds, 
had  found  his  foe's  trail  and  meant  to  bag  him  un- 
aided and  have  full  vengeance  and  glory.  But  so 
unexpectedly,  and  alarmingly  unconcerned,  did 
Burke  materialize  in  the  emptiness  that  Jed's  gun 
was  a  minute  too  late  in  getting  into  position.  Lawson 
had  the  drop  on  him!  They  were  both  very  quiet 
for  a  moment,  then  Lawson  laughed  and  did  it  so 
boldly  that  Jed  shrank  back. 

"Coming  to  make  a  friendly  call,  Martin?'* 

"Something  like  that!" 

"Well,  come  in,  come  right  in!" 

"I  reckon  you  an'  me  can  settle  what  we've  got 
ter  settle  in  the  open!"  Jed  stuttered.  It  seemed  a 
hideous,  one-sided  settlement. 

"As  yo'  please,  Jed,  as  yo'  please.  I  have  a 
leanin'  to  the  open  myself.  I'd  just  decided  ter 
come  out;  I  was  going  up  ter  Jim  White's  and  help 
him  mete  out  justice,  but  maybe  you  and  me  can 
save  him  the  trouble." 

"You — goin'  ter  shoot  me,  Burke — like  a — like  a — 
hedgehog?" 

"No.  I'm  goin'  ter  do  unto  yo'  as  yo'  would 
have—  Here  Burke  laughed — he  was  enjoying 

himself  hugely. 


128  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

" What  yo'  mean?" 

"Well,  I'm  goin'  ter  put  yer  in  my  quarters  and 
tie  yer  to  a  chair.  Yo'll  be  able  to  wiggle  out  in 
time,  but  it  will  take  yer  long  enough  fur  me  to  do 
what  I'm  set  about  doin'.  Yo'  torn  down  traitor!— 
yo'  were  'lowing  to  put  me  behind  bars,  wasn't  yer? 
Yo'  meant  to  let  outsiders  take  the  life  out  o'  me — 
yo'  skunk!  Well,  instead,  Jed — I'm  goin'  on  my 
weddin'  trip — me  and  HI'  Nella-Rose.  I've  seen 
her;  she  done  promised  to  have  me,  when  I  come  out 
o1  hidin'.  I'm  coming  out  now!  Nella-Rose  an' 
me  are  goin'  to  find  a  bigger  place  than  Pine  Cone 
Settlement.  Yo'll  wiggle  yer  blasted  hide  loose  by 
mornin'  maybe;  but  then  her  an'  me'll  be  where 
you-all  can't  ketch  us !  Go  in  there,  now,  you  green 
lizard;  turn  about  an'  get  on  yer  belly  like  the  crawl- 
in'  thing  yo'  are!  That's  it — go!  the  way  opens  up." 

Jed  was  crawling  through  the  bushes,  Lawson 
after  him  with  levelled  gun.  "Now,  then,  take  a 
seat  an'  make  yerself  ter  home!"  Jed  got  to  the 
chair  and  turned  a  green-white  face  upon  his  tor- 
mentor. 

"Yer  goin'  ter  let  me  starve  here?"  he  asked  with 
shaking  voice. 

"That  depends  on  yo'  power  to  wiggle.  See, 
I  tie  you  so!"  Lawson  had  pounced  upon  Jed  and 
had  him  pinioned.  "I  ain't  goin'  ter  turn  a  key  on 
yer  like  yo'  was  aimin'  ter  do  on  me!  It's  up  to  yo' 
an'  yer  wigglin'  powers,  when  yo'  get  free.  The 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST  129 

emptier  yer  belly  is,  the  more  room  ye'll  have  fer 
wiggling.  God  bless  yer!  yer  dog-gone  hound! 
Bless  yer  an' — curse  yer!  I'm  off — with  the  doney- 
gal!" 

And  off  he  was — he  and  his  cruel  but  gay  laugh. 

There  was  no  fire  in  the  cave-like  place;  no  light 
but  the  indirect  moonlight  which  slanted  through 
the  opening.  It  was  death  or  wiggle  for  Jed  Martin 
— so  he  wiggled ! 

In  the  meantime,  Burke  headed  for  Jim  White's. 
He  meant  to  play  a  high  game  there — to  fling  him- 
self on  White's  mercy — appeal  to  the  liking  he  knew 
the  sheriff  had  for  him — confess  his  love  for  Nella- 
Rose — make  his  promise  for  future  redemption  and 
then  go,  scot-free,  to  claim  the  girl  who  had  declared 
he  might  speak  when  once  again  he  dared  walk  up- 
right among  his  fellows.  So  Lawson  planned  and 
went  bravely  to  the  doing  of  it. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A'  WASHINGTON,  Trued  ale  telegraphed  to 
Brace  Kendall.  He  felt,  as  he  drew  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  old  haunts,  like  a  stranger, 
and  a  blind,  groping  one  at  that.  The  noises  of  the 
city  disturbed  and  confused  him;  the  crowds  ir- 
ritated him.  When  he  remembered  the  few  weeks 
that  lay  between  the  present  and  the  days  when 
he  was  part  and  parcel  of  this  so-called  life,  he  ex- 
perienced a  sensation  of  having  died  and  been  com- 
pelled to  return  to  earth  to  finish  some  business  care- 
lessly overlooked.  He  meant  to  rectify  the  omission 
as  soon  as  possible  and  get  back  to  the  safety  and 
peace  of  the  hills.  How  different  it  all  would  be 
with  settled  ideas,  definite  work,  and  Nella-Rose! 

While  waiting  for  his  train  in  the  Washington 
station  he  was  startled  to  find  that,  of  a  sudden,  he 
was  adrift  between  the  Old  and  the  New.  If  he 
repudiated  the  past,  the  future  as  sternly  repudiated 
him.  He  could  not  reconcile  his  love  and  desire 
with  his  identity.  Somehow  the  man  he  had  left, 
when  he  went  South,  appeared  now  to  have  been 
waiting  for  him  on  his  return,  and  while  his  plans, 
nicely  arranged,  seemed  feasible  the  actual  re- 
adjustment struck  him  as  lurid  and  impossible. 

130 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST  131 

The  fact  was  that  his  experience  of  life  in  Pine  Cone 
made  him  now  shrink  from  contact  with  the  outside 
world  as  one  of  its  loyal  natives  might  have  done. 
It  could  no  more  survive  in  the  garish  light  of  a  city 
day  than  little  Nella-Rose  could  have.  That  conclu- 
sion reached,  Truedale  was  comforted.  He  could  not 
lure  his  recent  past  to  this  environment,  but  so  long 
as  it  lay  safe  and  ready  to  welcome  him  when  he 
should  return,  he  could  be  content.  So  he  relegated 
it  with  a  resigned  sigh,  as  he  might  have  done  the 
memory  of  a  dear,  absent  friend,  to  the  time  when 
he  could  call  it  forth  to  some  purpose. 

It  was  well  he  could  do  this,  for  with  the  coming  of 
Brace  Kendall  upon  the  scene  all  romantic  sensation 
was  excluded  as  though  by  an  icy-clear,  north  wind. 
Brace  was  at  the  New  York  station — Brace  with  the 
armour  of  familiarity  and  unbounded  friendliness. 
"Old  Top!"  he  called  Truedale,  and  shook  hands 
with  him  so  vigorously  that  the  last  remnant  of 
thought  that  clung  to  the  distant  mountains  was 
freed  from  the  present. 

"Well,  of  all  the  miracles!  Why,  Con,  I  bet 
you  tip  the  scales  at  a  hundred  and  sixty.  And 
look  at  your  paw!  Why,  it's  callous  and  actually 
horny!  And  the  colour  you've  got!  Lord,  man! 
you're  made  over. 

"You're  to  come  to  your  uncle's  house,  Con. 
It's  rather  a  shock,  but  we  got  you  as  soon  as  we 
could.  In  the  meantime,  we've  followed  directions. 


i32  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

The  will  has  not  been  read,  of  course,  but  there  was 
a  letter  found  in  your  uncle's  desk  that  commanded 
— that's  the  only  word  to  express  it,  really — Lynda 
and  you  and  me  to  come  to  the  old  house  right  after 
the  funeral.  We  waited  to  hear  from  you,  Con,  but 
since  you  could  not  get  here  we  had  to  do  the  best 
we  could.  Dr.  McPherson  took  charge." 

"I  was  buried  pretty  deep  in  the  woods,  Ken, 
and  there  was  a  bad  hitch  in  the  delivery  of  the  tele- 
gram. Such  things  do  not  count  down  where  I  was. 
But  I'm  glad  about  the  old  house — glad  you  and 
Lynda  are  there." 

"Con!" — and  at  this  Brace  became  serious — "I 
think  we  rather  overdid  our  estimate  of  your  uncle. 
Since  his — his  going,  we've  seen  him,  Lyn  and  I,  in 
a  new  light.  He  was  quite — well,  quite  a  senti- 
mentalist! But  see — here  we  are!" 

"The  house  looks  different  already!"  Conning 
said,  leaning  from  the  cab  window. 

"Yes,  Lyn's  had  a  lot  to  do,  but  she's  man- 
aged to  make  a  home  of  the  place  in  the  short 
time." 

Lynda  Kendall  had  heard  the  sound  of  wheels 
in  the  quiet  street — had  set  the  door  of  welcome  open 
herself,  and  now  stood  in  the  panel  of  light  with  out- 
stretched hands.  Like  a  revelation  Truedale  seemed 
to  take  in  the  whole  picture  at  once.  Behind  the 
girl  lay  the  warm,  bright  hall  that  had  always  been 
so  empty  and  drear  in  his  boyhood.  It  was  furnished 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  133 

now.  Already  it  had  the  look  of  having  been  lived 
in  for  years.  There  were  flowers  in  a  tall  jar  on  the 
table  and  a  fire  on  the  broad  hearth.  And  against 
this  background  stood  the  strong,  fine  form  of  the 
young  mistress. 

"Welcome  home,  Con!" 

Truedale,  for  a  moment,  dared  not  trust  his 
voice.  He  gripped  her  hands  and  felt  as  if  he  were 
emerging  from  a  trance.  Then,  of  a  sudden,  a  deep 
resentment  overpowered  him.  They  could  not 
understand,  of  course,  but  every  word  and  tone  of 
appropriation  seemed  an  insult  to  the  reality  that 
he  knew  existed.  He  no  longer  belonged  to  them, 
to  the  life  into  which  they  were  trying  to  draw  him. 
To-morrow  he  would  explain;  he  was  eager  to  do  so 
and  end  the  restraint  that  sprang  into  being  the 
moment  he  touched  Lynda's  hands. 

Lynda  watched  the  tense  face  confronting  her 
and  believed  Conning  was  suffering  pangs  of  re- 
morse and  regret.  She  was  filled  with  pity  and 
sympathy  shone  in  her  eyes.  She  led  him  to  the 
library  and  there  familiarity  greeted  him — the  room 
was  unchanged.  Lynda  had  respected  everything; 
it  was  as  it  always  had  been  except  that  the  long, 
low  chair  was  empty. 

They  talked  together  softly  in  the  quiet  place  until 
dinner — talked  of  indifferent  things,  realizing  that 
they  must  keep  on  the  surface.  ' 

"This  room  and  his  bedchamber,  Con,"  Lynda  ex- 


i34  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

plained,  "are  the  same.  For  the  rest?  Well,  I  hope 
you  will  like  it." 

Truedale  did  like  it.  He  gave  an  exclamation 
of  delight  when  later  they  entered  the  dining  room, 
which  had  never  been  furnished  in  the  past;  like  much 
of  the  house  it  had  been  a  sad  tribute  to  the  empti- 
ness and  disappointment  that  had  overcome  Wil- 
liam Truedale's  life.  Now  it  shone  with  beauty 
and  cheer. 

"It  is  not  merely  a  place  in  which  to  eat,"  ex- 
plained Lynda;  "a  dining  room  should  be  the  heart 
of  the  home,  as  the  library  is  the  soul." 

"Think  of  living  up  to  that!"— Brace  gave  a 
laugh — "and  not  having  it  interfere  with  your 
appetite!"  They  were  all  trying  to  keep  cheerful 
until  such  time  as  they  dared  recall  the  recent  past 
without  restraint. 

Such  an  hour  came  when  they  gathered  once 
more  in  the  library.  Brace  seized  his  pipe  in  the 
anticipation  of  play  upon  his  emotions.  By  tacit 
consent  the  low  chair  was  left  vacant  and  by  a  touch 
of  imagination  it  almost  seemed  as  if  the  absent 
master  were  waiting  to  be  justified. 

"And  now,"  Truedale  said,  huskily,  "tell  me 
all,  Lynda." 

"He  and  I  were  sitting  here  just  as  we  all  are  sit- 
ting now,  that  last  night.  He  had  forgiven  me  for — 
for  staying  away"  (Lynda's  voice  shook),  "and  we 
were  very  happy  and  confidential.  I  told  him  some 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  135 

things — quite  intimate  things,  and  he,  well,  he  came 
out  of  his  reserve  and  gruffness,  Con — he  let  me  see 
the  real  man  he  was!  I  suppose  while  he  had  been 
alone — for  I  had  neglected  him — he  had  had  time  to 
think,  to  regret  his  mistakes;  he  was  very  just — even 
with  himself.  Con" — and  here  Lynda  had  to  pause 
and  get  control  of  herself — "he — he  once  loved  my 
mother!  He  bought  this  house  hoping  she  would 
come  and,  as  its  mistress,  make  it  beautiful.  When 
my  mother  married  my  father,  nothing  mattered — 
nothing  about  the  house,  I  mean.  Before  my  mother 
died  she  told  me — to  be  kind  to  Uncle  William.  She, 
in  a  sacred  way,  left  him  to  me;  me  to  him.  That 
was  one  of  the  things  I  told  him  that  last  night.  I 
wish  I  had  told  him  long  ago!"  The  words  were 
passionate  and  remorseful.  "Oh,  it  might  have  eased 
his  pain  and  loneliness.  When  shall  we  ever  learn 
to  say  the  right  thing  when  it  is  most  needed  ?  Well, 
after  I  had  told  him  he — he  grew  very  still.  It  was 
a  long  time  before  he  spoke — the  joy  was  sinking  in, 
I  saw  that,  and  it  carried  the  bitterness  away.  When 
he  did  speak  he  made  me  understand  that  he  could 
not  trust  himself  further  on  that  subject,  but  he 
tried  to — to  explain  about  you,  Con.  Poor  man! 
He  realized  that  he  had  made  a  failure  as  a  guide; 
but  in  his  own  way  he  had  endeavoured  to  be  a 
guardian.  You  know  his  disease  developed  just 
before  you  came  into  his  life.  Con,  he  lived  all 
through  the  years  just  for  you — just  to  stand  by!" 


136  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

From  out  the  shadow  where  he  sat,  Brace  spoke 
unevenly: 

"Too  bad  you  don't — smoke,  old  man!"  It  was 
the  only  suggestion  he  had  to  offer  in  the  tense 
silence  that  gripped  them  all. 

"It's  all  right!"  Truedale  said  heavily.  "Go  on 
when  you  can,  Lynda." 

"Do  you — remember  your  father,  Con?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  your  uncle  feared  that  too  much  ease 
and  money  might — 

"I — I  begin  to  understand." 

"So  he  went  to  the  other  extreme.  Every  step  of 
your  well-fought  way  was  joy  to  him — the  only  joy 
he  knew.  From  his  detachment  and  loneliness  he 
planned — almost  plotted — for  you,  but  he  did  not 
tell  you.  It  would  all  have  been  so  different — oh! 
so  different  if  we  had  all  known.  Then  he  told  me 
a  little — about  his  will." 

No  one  saw  the  sudden  crimson  that  dyed  Lynda's 
white  face  and  throat.  "He  was  very  fantastic 
about  that.  He  made  certain  arrangements  that 
were  to  take  effect  at  once.  He  has  left  you  three 
thousand  a  year,  Con,  without  any  restrictions 
whatever.  He  told  me  that.  He  left  his  servants 
and  employees  generous  annuities.  He  left  me  this 
house — for  my  mother's  sake.  He  insisted  that  it 
should  be  a  home  at  last.  A  large  sum  is  provided 
for  its  furnishing  and  upkeep — I'm  a  trustee!  The 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  137 

most  beautiful  thing,  perhaps,  was  the  thought  ex- 
pressed in  these  words  of  his,  'I  want  you  to  do  your 
mother's  work  and  mine,  while  still  following  your 
own  rightful  desires.  Make  this  house  a  place  of 
welcome,  peace,  and  friendliness!'  I  mean  to  do 
my  best,  Con." 

"And  he's  left  me" — Brace  found  relief  in  the 
one  touch  of  humour  that  presented  itself — "he's 
left  me  a  thousand  dollars  as  a  token  of  his  apprecia- 
tion of  my  loyalty  to  you,  when  you  most  needed  it." 

But  Truedale  hardly  heeded.  His  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  empty  chair  and,  since  he  had  not 
understood  in  the  past,  he  could  not  express  himself 
now.  He  was  suffering  the  torture  that  all  feel 
when,  too  late,  revealment  makes  clear  what  never 
should  have  been  hidden. 

"And  then" — Lynda's  low,  even  voice  went  on— 
"he  sent  me  away  and  Thomas  put  him  to  bed.  He 
asked  for  some  medicine  that  it  seems  he  always  had 
in  case  of  need;  he  took  too  much — and — 

"So  it  was  suicide!"  Truedale  broke  in  desperately. 
"I  feared  that.  Good  God!"  The  tragedy  and 
loneliness  clutched  his  imagination — he  seemed  to 
see  it  all,  it  was  unbearable! 

"Con!"  Lynda  laid  her  firm  hand  upon  his  arm, 
"I  have  learned  to  call  it  something  else.  It  has 
helped  me;  perhaps  it  will  help  you.  He  had  waited 
wearily  on  this  side  of  the  door  of  release;  he — he 
told  me  that  he  was  going  on  a  long  journey  he  had 


138  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

often  contemplated — I  did  not  understand  then! 
I  fancy  the — the  journey  was  very  short.  There  was 
no  suffering.  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  peace 
and  majesty  of  his  face!  He  could  wait  no  longer. 
Nothing  mattered  here,  and  all  that  he  yearned  for 
called  loudly  to  him.  He  simply  opened  the  door 
himself — and  went  out!" 

Truedale  clasped  the  hand  upon  his  arm.  "Thank 
you,  Lynda.  I  did  not  realize  how  kind  you  could 
be,"  was  all  he  said. 

The  logs  fell  apart  and  filled  the  room  with  a 
rich  glow.  Brace  shook  the  ashes  from  his  pipe 
upon  the  hearth — he  felt  now  that  he  could  trust 
himself. 

"For  the  future,"  Lynda's  calm  voice  almost 
startled  the  two  men  by  its  practicability  and  pur- 
pose, "this  is  home — in  the  truest,  biggest  sense. 
No  one  shall  even  enter  here  and  feel — friendless. 
This  is  my  trust;  it  shall  be  as  he  wished  it,  and  I 
mean  to  have  my  own  life,  too!  Why,  the  house  is 
big  enough  for  us  all  to  live  our  lives  and  not  interfere 
with  each  other.  I  mean  to  bring  my  private  busi- 
ness here  in  the  rooms  over  the  extension.  I'll 
keep  the  uptown  office  for  interviews.  And  you, 
Con?" 

Truedale  almost  sprang  to  his  feet,  then,  hands 
plunged  in  pockets,  he  said: 

"There  does  not  seem  to  be  anything  for  me  to  do; 
at  least  not  until  the  will  is  read.  I  think  I  shall  go 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST  139 

back — I  left  things  at  loose  ends;  there  will  be  time 
to  consider — later." 

"But,  Con,  there  is  something  for  you  to  do.  You 
will  understand  after  you  see  the  lawyers  in  the 
morning.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  business:  many 
interests  of  your  uncle's  that  he  expected  you  to 
represent  in  his  name — to  see  that  they  were  made 
secure.  Dr.  McPherson  has  told  me  something 
about  the  will — enough  to  help  me  to  begin." 

Truedale  looked  blankly  at  Lynda.  "Very  well, 
after  that — I  will  go  back,"  he  spoke  almost  harshly. 
"I  will  arrange  affairs  somehow.  I'm  no  business 
man,  but  I  daresay  Uncle  William  chose  wise  assis- 
tants." 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Con?"  Brace  eyed 
his  friend  critically;  "you  look  fit  as  a  fellow  can. 
This  has  demanded  a  good  deal  of  self-denial  and 
faith  from  us  all,  but  somehow  this  duty  was  the 
biggest  thing  in  sight;  we  rather  owe  him  that,  I 
fancy.  You  know  you  cannot  run  to  cover  just  now, 
old  man.  This  has  been  a  jog,  but  by  morning  you'll 
reconsider  and  play  your  part."  There  was  a  new 
note  in  Kendall's  voice.  It  was  a  call  to  something 
he  hoped  was  in  his  friend,  but  which  he  had  never 
tested.  There  was  a  sudden  fear,  too,  of  the  change 
that  had  come  to  Truedale.  It  was  not  all  physical. 
There  was  a  baffling  suggestion  of  unreality  about 
him  that  made  him  almost  a  stranger. 

"I    dare    say    you    are    right,    Ken."     Truedale 


i4o  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

walked  the  length  of  the  room  and  back.  "I  own  to 
being  cut  up  over  this.  I  never  did  my  part — I  see 
that  now — and  of  course  I'll  endeavour  to  do  what  I 
should.  My  body's  all  right  but  my  nerves  still 
jangle  at  a  shock.  To-morrow  the  whole  thing  will 
settle  into  shape.  You  and  Lynda  have  been — well 
—I  cannot  express  what  I  feel."  He  paused.  The 
hour  was  late,  and  for  the  first  time  he  seemed  to 
realize  that  the  old  home  was  not  his  in  the  sense 
it  once  had  been.  Lynda  understood  the  moment's 
hesitation  and  smiled  slightly. 

"Con,  there's  one  other  thing  in  the  house  that 
remains  as  it  was.  Under  the  eaves  the  small  room 
that  was  yours  is  yours  still.  I  saw  to  it  myself 
that  not  a  book  or  picture  was  displaced.  There  are 
other  rooms  at  your  disposal — to  share  with  us — but 
that  room  is  yours,  always." 

Truedale  stood  before  Lynda  and  put  out  his  hands 
in  quite  the  old  way.  His  eyes  were  dim  and  he  said 
hoarsely:  "That's  about  the  greatest  thing  you've 
done  yet,  Lyn.  Thank  you.  Good-night." 

At  the  door  he  hesitated — he  felt  he  must  speak, 
but  to  bring  his  own  affairs  into  the  tense  and  new 
conditions  surrounding  him  seemed  impossible.  To- 
morrow he  would  explain  everything.  It  was  this 
slowness  in  reaching  a  decision  that  most  defeated 
Truedale's  best  interest.  While  he  deplored  it — he 
seemed  incapable  of  overcoming  it. 

Alone  in  the  little  room,  later,  he  let  himself  go. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  141 

Burying  his  tired  head  upon  his  folded  arms  he  gave 
himself  up  to  waves  of  recollection  that  threatened 
to  engulf  him.  Everything  was  as  it  always  had 
been — a  glance  proved  that.  When  he  had  parted 
from  his  uncle  he  had  taken  only  such  articles  as 
pertained  to  his  maturer  years.  The  pictures  on 
the  walls — the  few  shabby  books  that  had  drifted 
into  his  lonely  and  misunderstood  childhood — 
remained.  There  was  the  locked  box  containing, 
Conning  knew  full  well,  the  pitiful  but  sacred  at- 
tempts at  self-expression.  The  key  was  gone,  but  he 
recollected  every  scrap  of  paper  which  lay  hidden  in 
the  old,  dented  tin  box.  Presently  he  went  to  the 
dormer  window  and  opened  it  wide.  Leaning  out  he 
tried  to  find  his  way  back  to  Pine  Cone — to  the 
future  that  was  to  be  free  of  all  these  cramping 
memories  and  hurting  restrictions — but  the  trail  was 
too  cluttered;  he  was  lost  utterly! 

"It  is  because  they  do  not  know,"  he  thought. 
"After  to-morrow  it  will  be  all  right." 

Then  he  reflected  that  the  three  thousand  dollars 
Lynda  had  mentioned  would  clear  every  obstacle 
from  his  path  and  Nella-Rose's.  He  no  longer  need 
struggle — he  could  give  his  time  and  care  to  her  and 
his  work.  He  did  not  consider  the  rest  of  his  uncle's 
estate,  it  did  not  matter.  Lynda  was  provided  for 
and  so  was  he.  And  then,  for  the  first  time  in  many 
days,  Truedale  speculated  upon  bringing  Nella-Rose 
away  from  her  hills.  He  found  himself  rather  in- 


142  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

sisting  upon  it,  until  he  brought  himself  to  terms  by 
remembering  her  as  he  had  seen  her  last — clinging 
to  her  own,  vehemently,  passionately. 

"No,  I've  made  my  choice,"  he  finally  exclaimed; 
"the  coming  back  unsettled  me  for  the  moment 
but  her  people  shall  be  my  people." 

Below  stairs  Lynda  was  humming  softly  an  old 
tune — "The  Song  of  To-morrow,"  it  was  called.  It 
caught  and  held  Truedale's  imagination.  He  tried 
to  recall  the  lines,  but  only  the  theme  was  clear..  It 
was  the  everlasting  Song  of  To-morrow,  always  the 
one  tune  set  to  changing  ideals.  - 

It  was  the  same  idea  as  the  philosophy  about  each 
man's  "interpretation"  of  the  story  already  written, 
which  Conning  had  reflected  upon  so  often. 

At  this  time  Truedale  believed  he  firmly  accepted 
the  principle  of  foreordination,  or  whatever  one 
chose  to  call  it.  One  followed  the  path  upon  which 
one's  feet  had  been  set.  One  might  linger  and  wander, 
within  certain  limits,  but  always  each  must  return  to 
his  destined  trail! 

A  distant  church  clock  struck  one;  the  house  was 
still  at  last — deathly  still.  Two  sounded,  but  True- 
dale  thought  on. 

He  finally  succeeded  in  eliminating  the  entangling 
circumstances  that  seemed  to  lie  like  a  twisted  skein 
in  the  years  stretching  between  his  going  forth  from 
his  uncle's  house  to  this  night  of  return.  He  tried 
to  understand  himself,  to  estimate  the  man  he  was. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  143 

In  no  egotistical  sense  did  he  do  this,  but  sternly, 
deliberately,  because  he  felt  that  the  future  demanded 
it.  He  must  account  to  others,  but  first  he  must 
account  to  himself. 

He  recalled  his  boyhood  days  when  his  uncle's 
distrust  and  apparent  dislike  of  him  had  driven  him 
upon  himself,  almost  taking  self-respect  with  it. 
He  re-lived  the  barren  years  when,  longing  for  love 
and  companionship,  he  found  solace  in  a  cold  pride 
that  carried  him  along  through  school  and  into  col- 
lege, with  a  reputation  for  hard,  unyielding  work, 
and  unsocial  habits. 

How  desperately  lonely  he  had  been — how  cruelly 
underestimated — but  he  had  made  no  outcry.  He 
had  lived  his  years  uncomplainingly — not  even 
voicing  his  successes  and  achievements.  Through 
long  practise  in  self-restraint,  his  strength  lay  in 
deliberate  calculation — not  indifferent  action.  He 
hid,  from  all  but  the  Kendalls,  his  private  ambitions 
and  hopes.  He  studied  in  order  that  he  might 
shake  himself  free  from  his  uncle's  hold  upon  him. 
He  meant  to  pay  every  cent  he  had  borrowed — to 
secure,  by  some  position  that  would  supply  the  bare 
necessities  of  life,  time  and  opportunity  for  develop- 
ing the  talent  he  secretly  believed  was  his.  He 
was  prepared,  once  loose  from  obligation  to  old 
William  Truedale,  to  starve  and  prove  his  faith. 
And  then — his  breakdown  had  come! 

Cast  adrift  by  loss  of  health,   among  surround- 


i44  THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 

ings  that  appealed  to  all  that  was  most  dangerous 
in  his  nature — believing  that  his  former  ambitions 
were  defeated — old  longings  for  love,  understanding 
and  self-revealment  arose  and  conquered  the  weak 
creature  he  was.  But  they  had  appealed  to  the 
best  in  him — not  the  evillest — thank  God !  And  now? 
Truedale  raised  his  head  and  looked  about  in  the 
dim  room,  as  if  to  find  the  boy  he  once  had  been 
and  reassure  him. 

"There  is  no  longer  any  excuse  for  hesitation  and 
the  damnable  weakness  of  considering  the  next  step," 
thought  Truedale.  •  "I  have  chosen  my  own  course — 
chosen  the  simple  and  best  things  life  has  to  offer. 
No  man  in  God's  world  has  a  right  to  question  my 
deeds.  If  they  cannot  understand,  more's  the  pity// 

And  in  that  hour  and  conclusion,  the  indifference 
and  false  pride  that  had  upheld  Truedale  in  the  past 
fell  from  him  as  he  faced  the  demands  of  the  morrow. 
He  was  never  again  to  succumb  to  the  lack  of  con- 
fidence his  desolate  youth  had  developed;  physically 
and  spiritually  he  roused  to  action  now  that  ex- 
actions were  made  upon  him. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  following  day  Truedale  heard  the  will 
read.     Directly  after,  he  felt  like  a  man  in 
a  quicksand.      Every  thought  and  motion 
seemed  but  to  sink  him  deeper  until  escape  appeared 
impossible. 

He  had  felt,  for  a  moment,  a  little  surprise  that 
the  bulk  of  his  uncle's  great  fortune  had  gone  to  Dr. 
McPherson — an  already  rich  and  prosperous  man; 
then  he  began  to  understand.  Although  McPherson 
was  left  free  to  act  as  he  chose,  there  had  evidently 
been  an  agreement  between  him  and  William  True- 
dale  as  to  the  carrying  out  of  certain  affairs  and, 
what  was  more  startling  and  embarrassing,  Conning 
was  hopelessly  involved  in  these.  Under  super- 
vision, apparently,  he  was  to  be  recognized  as  his 
uncle's  representative  and,  while  not  his  direct  heir, 
certainly  his  respected  nephew. 

Truedale  was  confounded.  Unless  he  were  to 
disregard  his  uncle's  wishes,  there  was  no  way  open 
for  him  but  to  follow — as  he  was  led.  Far  from  being 
dissatisfied  with  the  distribution  of  the  fortune,  he 
had  been  relieved  to  know  that  he  was  responsible 
for  only  a  small  part  of  it;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
should  he  refuse  to  cooperate  in  the  schemes  out- 


146  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

lined  by  McPherson,  he  knew  that  he  would  be  miser- 
ably misunderstood. 

Confused  and  ill  at  ease  he  sought  McPherson 
later  in  the  day  and  that  genial  and  warm-hearted 
man,  shrinking  always  behind  so  stern  an  exterior 
that  few  comprehended  him,  greeted  him  almost 
affectionately. 

"I  ordered  six  months  for  you,  Truedale,"  he 
exclaimed,  viewing  the  result  of  his  prescription 
keenly,  "and  you've  made  good  in  a  few  weeks. 
You're  a  great  advertisement  for  Pine  Cone.  And 
White!  Isn't  he  God's  own  man?" 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  him  in  just  that  way"- 
Conning  reverted  to  his  last  memory  of  the  sheriff— 
"but   he   probably    showed    another    side    to    you. 
He    has   a   positive   reverence   for  you   and    I    im- 
agine he  accepted  me  as  a  duty  you  had  laid  upon 
him." 

"Nonsense,  boy!  his  health  reports  were  eulogies 
— he  was  your  friend. 

"  But  isn't  he  a  freebooter  with  all  his  other  charms  ? 
His  contempt  for  government,  as  we  poor  wretches 
know  it,  is  sublime;  and  yet  he  is  the  safest  man  I 
know.  The  law,  he  often  told  me,  was  like  a  lie; 
useful  only  to  scoundrels — torn-down  scoundrels,  he 
called  them. 

"I  tell  you  it  takes  a  God's  man  to  run  justice  in 
those  hills!  White's  as  simple  and  direct  as  a  child 
and  as  wise  as  a  judge  ought  to  be.  I  wouldn't 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  147 

send  some  folk  I  know  to  White,  they  might  blur  his 
vision;  but  I  could  trust  him  to  you." 

Silently  Truedale  contemplated  this  image  of 
White;  then,  as  McPherson  talked  on,  the  dead  uncle 
materialized  so  differently  from  the  stupid  estimate 
he  had  formed  of  him  that  a  sense  of  shame  over- 
powered him.  Lynda  had  somewhat  opened  True- 
dale's  eyes,  but  Lynda's  love  and  compassion  un- 
consciously coloured  the  picture  she  drew.  Here 
was  a  hard-headed  business  man,  a  man  who  had 
been  close  to  William  Truedale  all  his  life,  proving 
him  now,  to  his  own  nephew,  as  a  far-sighted,  wise, 
even  patient  and  merciful  friend. 

Never  had  Truedale  felt  so  small  and  humble. 
Never  had  his  past  indifference  and  false  pride 
seemed  so  despicable  and  egotistical — his  return  for 
the  silent  confidence  reposed  in  him,  so  pitifully 
shameful. 

He  must  bear  his  part  now!  There  was  no  way 
but  that!  If  he  were  ever  to  regain  his  own  self- 
respect  or  hope  to  hold  that  of  others,  he  must,  to 
the  exclusion  of  private  inclination,  rise  as  far  as  in 
him  lay  to  the  demands  made  upon  him. 

"Your  uncle,"  McPherson  was  saying,  "tied 
hand  and  foot  as  he  was,  looked  far  and  wide  during 
his  years  of  illness.  I  thought  I  knew,  thought  I 
understood  him;  but  since  his  death  I  have  almost 
felt  that  he  was  inspired.  It's  a  damnable  pity 
that  our  stupidity  and  callousness  prevent  us  realiz- 


i48  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

ing  in  life  what  we  are  quick  enough  to  perceive  in 
death — when  it  is  too  late!  Truedale's  faith  in  me, 
when  I  gave  him  so  little  to  go  by,  is  both  flattering 
and  touching.  He  knew  he  could  trust  me — and 
that  knowledge  is  the  best  thing  he  bequeathed  to 
me.  But  I  expect  you  to  do  your  part,  boy,  and  by 
so  doing  to  justify  much  that  might,  otherwise,  be 
questioned.  To  begin  with,  as  you  have  just  heard, 
the  sanatorium  for  cases  like  your  uncle's  is  to  be 
begun  at  once.  Now  there  is  a  strip  of  land,  which, 
should  it  suit  our  purpose,  can  be  had  at  great  ad- 
vantage if  taken  at  once,  and  for  cash.  We  will 
run  down  to  see  it  this  week  and  then  we'll  know 
better  where  we  stand." 

"I'd  like,"  Truedale  coloured  quickly,  "to  return 
to  Pine  Cone  for  a  few  days.  I  could  start  at  once. 
You  see  I  left  rather  suddenly  and  brought " 

But  McPherson  laughed  and  waved  his  hand  in 
the  wide  gesture  that  disposed  of  hope  and  fear, 
lesser  business  and  even  death  itself,  at  times. 

"Oh!  Jim  won't  tamper  with  anything.  Cer- 
tainly your  traps  are  safe  enough  there.  Such 
things  can  wait,  but  this  land-deal  cannot.  Besides 
there  are  men  to  see:  architects,  builders,  etc.  The 
wishes  of  your  uncle  were  most  explicit.  The 
building,  you  recall,  was  to  be  begun  within  three 
months  of  his  death.  Having  all  the  time  there 
was,  himself,  he  has  left  precious  little  for  others." 

Again  the  big  laugh   and  wide  gesture  disposed 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  149 

of  Pine  Cone  and  the  tragic  affairs  of  little  Nella- 
Rose.  Unless  he  was  ready  to  lay  bare  his  private 
reasons,  Truedale  saw  he  must  wait  a  few  days  longer. 
And  he  certainly  had  no  intention  of  confiding  in 
McPherson. 

"Very  well,  doctor, "  he  said  after  a  slight  pause, 
"set  me  to  work.  I  want  you  to  know  that  as  far 
as  I  can  I  mean — too  late,  as  you  say — to  prove  my 
good  intentions  at  least  to — my  uncle." 

"That's  the  way  to  talk!"  McPherson  rose  and 
slapped  Conning  on  the  back.  "I  used  to  say  to 
old  Truedale,  that  if  he  had  taken  you  more  into  his 
confidence,  he  might  have  eased  life  for  us  all;  but 
he  was  timid,  boy,  timid.  In  many  ways  he  was 
like  a  woman — a  woman  hurt  and  sensitive." 

"If  I  had  only  known — only  imagined";  Conning 
was  walking  toward  the  door;  "well,  at  least  I'm 
on  the  job  now,  Dr.  McPherson." 

And  then  for  an  hour  or  two  Truedale  walked 
the  city  streets  perplexed  and  distraught.  He  was 
being  absorbed  without  his  own  volition.  By  a 
subtle  force  he  was  convinced  that  he  was  part  of  a 
scheme  bigger  and  stronger  than  his  own  desires 
and  inclinations.  Unless  he  was  prepared  to  play 
a  coward's  role  he  must  adjust  his  thoughts  and 
ideas  to  coincide  with  the  rules  and  regulations  of 
the  game  of  life  and  men.  With  this  knowledge 
other  and  more  blighting  convictions  held  part. 
In  his  defiance  and  egotism  he  had  muddled  things 


1 50  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

in  a  desperate  way.  In  the  cold,  clear  light  of  con- 
ventional relations  the  past  few  weeks,  shorn  of  the 
glamour  cast  by  his  romantic  love  and  supposed  con- 
tempt for  social  restrictions,  stood  forth  startlingly 
significant.  At  the  moment  Truedale  could  not 
conceive  how  he  had  ever  been  capable  of  playing 
the  fool  as  he  had!  Not  for  one  instant  did  this 
realization  affect  his  love  and  loyalty  to  Nella-Rose; 
but  that  he  should  have  been  swept  from  his  moor- 
ings by  passion,  reduced  him  to  a  state  of  contempt 
for  the  folly  he  had  perpetrated.  And,  he  thought, 
if  he  now,  after  a  few  days,  could  so  contemplate 
his  acts  how  could  he  suppose  that  others  would 
view  them  with  tolerance  and  sympathy? 

No;  he  must  accept  the  inevitable  results  of  his 
action.  His  love,  his  earnest  intention  of  some 
day  living  his  own  life  in  his  own  way,  were  to  cost 
him  more  than  he,  blinded  by  selfishness  and  passion 
in  the  hills,  had  supposed. 

Well,  he  was  ready  to  pay  to  the  uttermost 
though  it  cost  him  the  deepest  heart-ache.  As  he 
was  prepared  to  undertake  the  burden  his  uncle's 
belief  in  him  entailed,  so  he  was  prepared,  now  that 
he  saw  things  clearly,  to  forego  the  dearest  and  closest 
ties  of  his  old  life. 

He  wondered  how  he  could  ever  have  dreamed 
that  he  could  go  to  Lynda  and  Brace  with  his  amaz- 
ing confession  and  expect  them,  in  the  first  moment 
of  shock,  to  open  their  hearts  and  understand  him. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  151 

He  almost  laughed,  now,  as  he  pictured  the  ab- 
surdity. And  just  then  he  drew  himself  up  sharply 
and  came  to  his  conclusion. 

He  could  not  lay  himself  bare  to  any  one  as  a 
sentimental  ass;  he  must  arrange  things  as  soon  as 
possible  to  return  South;  he  would,  just  before  start- 
ing, tell  Lynda  and  Brace  of  his  attachment  for 
Nella-Rose.  They  would  certainly  understand  why, 
in  the  stress  and  strain  of  recent  events,  he  had  not 
intruded  his  startling  news  before.  He  would 
neither  ask  nor  expect  sympathy  or  cooperation. 
He  must  assume  that  they  could  not  comprehend 
him.  This  was  going  to  be  the  hardest  wrench  of 
his  life,  Truedale  recognized  that,  but  it  was  the 
penalty  he  felt  he  must  pay. 

Then  he  would  go — for  his  wife!  He  would 
secure  her  privately,  by  all  the  necessary  conven- 
tions he  had  spurned  so  madly — he  would  bring 
her  to  his  people  and  leave  to  her  sweetness  and 
tender  charm  the  winning  of  that  which  he,  in  his 
blindness,  had  all  but  lost. 

So,  in  this  mood,  he  returned  to  his  uncle's  house 
and  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Nella-Rose.  He  phrased 
it  simply,  as  to  a  little  child.  He  reminded  her  of 
the  old  story  she  had  once  told  him  of  her  belief 
that  some  day  she  was  to  do  a  mighty  big  thing. 

"And  now  you  have  your  chance!"  he  pleaded. 
"I  cannot  live  in  your  hills,  dear,  though  often  you 
and  I  will  return  to  them  and  be  happy  in  the  little 


1 52  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

log  house.  But  you  must  come  with  me — your 
husband.  Come  down  the  Big  Road,  letting  me 
lead  you,  and  you  must  trust  me  and  oh !  my  doney- 
gal,  by  your  blessed  sweetness  and  power  you  must 
win  for  me — for  us  both — what  I,  alone,  can  never 
win." 

There  was  more,  much  more,  of  love  and  longing, 
of  tender  loyalty  and  passionate  reassurance,  and 
having  concluded  his  letter  he  sealed  it,  addressed  it, 
and  putting  it  in  an  envelope  with  a  short  note  of 
explanation  to  Jim  White  as  to  its  delivery,  etc.,  he 
mailed  it  with  such  a  sense  of  relief  as  he  had  not 
known  in  many  a  weary  day. 

He  prepared  himself  for  a  period  of  patient  waiting. 
He  knew  with  what  carelessness  mail  matter  was 
regarded  in  the  hills,  and  winter  had  already  laid 
its  hold  upon  Pine  Cone,  he  felt  sure.  So  while  he 
waited  he  plunged  eagerly  into  each  day's  work 
and  with  delight  saw  how  everything  seemed  to  go 
through  without  a  hitch.  It  began  to  look  as  if, 
when  Nella-Rose's  reply  came,  there  would  be  no 
reason  for  delay  in  bringing  her  to  the  North. 

But  this  hope  and  vision  did  not  banish  entirely 
Truedale's  growing  sorrow  for  the  part  he  must 
inevitably  take  when  the  truth  was  known  to  Lynda 
and  Brace.  Harder  and  harder  the  telling  of  it 
appeared  as  the  time  drew  near.  Never  had  they 
seemed  dearer  or  more  sacred  to  him  than  now  when 
he  realized  the  hurt  he  must  cause  them.  There 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  153 

were  moments  when  he  felt  that  he  could  not  bear 
the  eyes  of  Lynda — those  friendly,  trusting  eyes. 
Would  she  ever  be  able,  in  the  years  to  come,  to 
forgive  and  forget?  And  Brace — how  could  that 
frank,  direct  nature  comprehend  the  fever  of  mad- 
ness that  had,  in  the  name  of  love,  betrayed  the 
confidence  and  faith  of  a  lifetime?  Well,  much  lay 
in  the  keeping  of  the  little  mountain  girl  whose 
fascination  and  loveliness  would  plead  mightily. 
Of  Nella-Rose's  power  Truedale  held  no  doubt. 

Then  came  White's  devastating  letter  at  the 
close  of  an  exhausting  day  when  Conning  was  to 
dine  with  the  Kendalls. 

That  afternoon  he  had  concluded  the  immediate 
claims  of  business,  had  arranged  with  McPherson 
for  a  week's  absence,  and  meant  in  the  evening  to 
explain  to  Brace  and  Lynda  the  reason  for  his  jour- 
ney. He  was  going  to  start  South  on  the  morrow, 
whether  a  letter  came  or  not.  He  had  steeled  him- 
self for  the  crucial  hour  with  his  friends;  had  al- 
ready, in  his  imagination,  bidden  farewell  to  the 
relations  that  had  held  them  close  through  the  past 
years.-  He  believed,  because  he  was  capable  of 
paying  this  heavy  price  for  his  love,  that  no  further 
proof  would  be  necessary  to  convince  even  Lynda 
of  its  intensity.  - 

They  dined  cheerfully  and  alone  and,  as  they 
crossed  the  hall  afterward,  to  the  library,  Lynda 
asked  casually: 


154  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"Did  you  get  the  letters  for  you,  Con?  The 
maid  laid  them  on  the  stand  by  the  door." 

Then  she  went  on  into  the  bright  room  with  its 
long,  vacant  chair,  singing  "To-morrow's  Song"  in  that 
sweet  contralto  of  hers  that  deserved  better  training. 

There  were  three  letters — one  from  a  man  whose 
son  Truedale  had  tutored  before  he  went  away,  one 
from  the  architect  of  the  new  hospital,  and  a  bulky 
one  from  Dr.  McPherson.  Truedale  carried  them 
all  into  the  library  where  Brace  sat  comfortably 
puffing  away  before  the  fire;  and  Lynda,  some  de- 
signs for  interior  decoration  spread  out  before  her 
on  a  low  table,  still  humming,  rocked  gently  to  and 
fro  in  a  very  feminine  rocker.  Conning  drew  up  a 
chair  opposite  Kendall  and  tore  open  the  envelope 
from  his  late  patron. 

"I  tell  you,  Brace,"  he  said,  "if  any  one  had  told 
me  six  weeks  ago  that  I  should  ever  be  indifferent 
to  a  possible  offer  to  tutor,  I  would  have  laughed  at 
him.  But  so  it  is.  I  must  turn  down  the  sure- 
paying  Mr.  Smith  for  lack  of  time." 

Lynda  laughed  merrily.  "And  six  weeks  ago 
if  any  one  had  come  to  me  in  my  Top  Shelf  where  I 
carried  on  my  profession,  and  outlined  this  for  me"- 
she  waved  her  hand  around  the  room— "I'd  have 
called  the  janitor  to  put  out  an  unsafe  person. 
Hey-ho!"  And  then  the  brown  head  was  bent  over 
the  problem  of  an  order  which  had  come  in  that  day. 

"Oh!     I   say,   Lyn!"   Truedale   turned   from   his 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  155 

second  letter.  "Morgan  suggests  that  you  attend  to 
the  decorating  and  furnishing  of  the  hospital.  I 
told  him  to  choose  his  man  and  he  prefers  you  if  I 
have  no  objection.  Objection?  Good  Lord,  I 
never  thought  of  you.  I  somehow  considered  such 
work  out  of  your  line,  but  Fm  delighted." 

"Splendid!"  Lynda  looked  up,  radiant.  "How 
I  shall  revel  in  those  broad,  clean  spaces!  How  I 
shall  see  Uncle  William  in  every  room!  Thank  him, 
Con,  and  tell  him  I  accept — on  his  terms!" 

Then  Truedale  opened  the  third  envelope  and 
an  enclosed  letter  fell  out,  bearing  the  postmark  of 
the  Junction  near  Pine  Cone! 

There  was  a  small  electric  reading  lamp  on  the 
arm  of  Truedale's  chair;  he  turned  the  light  on  and, 
while  his  face  was  in  shadow,  the  words  before  him 
stood  out  illumined. 

"Sir — Mister  Truedale."  The  sheriff  had  evi- 
dently been  sorely  perplexed  as  to  the  proper  begin- 
ning of  the  task  he  had  undertaken. 

"I  send  this  by  old  Doc  McPherson,  not  know- 
ing any  better  way." 

(Jim's  epistle  was  nearly  innocent  of  punctuation, 
his  words  ran  on  almost  unbroken  and  gave  the 
reader  some  trouble  in  following.) 

Your  letter  to  a  certain  young  person  has  come  and  been 
destroyed  owing  to  my  thinking  under  the  present  circumstances, 
some  folks  what  don't  know  about  you,  better  not  h^ar  now. 
I  took  the  letter  to  Lone  Dome  a:  YCU  set  down  for  me  to  do 


i56  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

meaning  to  give  it  to  NeJla-Rose  like  what  you  said,  but  she 
wasn't  there.  Pete  was  there  and  Marg — she's  Nella-Rose's 
sister,  and  getting  ready  to  marry  that  torn-down  scamp  Jed 
Martin  which  to  my  way  of  thinking  is  about  the  best  punishment 
what  could  be  dealt  out  to  him.  Pete  was  right  sober  for  him 
and  spruced  up  owing  to  facts  I  am  now  coming  to  and  when 
Pete's  sober  there  ain't  a  more  sensible  cuss  than  what  he  is  nor  a 
gentlemaner.  Well,  I  asked  natural  like  for  Nella-Rose  and 
Marg  scrooged  up  her  mouth,  knowing  full  well  as  how  I  knew 
Jed  was  second  choice  for  her — but  Pete  he  done  tell  me  that 
Nella-Rose  had  married  Burke  Lawson  and  run  to  safer  parts 
and  when  I  got  over  the  shock  I  was  certainly  thankful  for  being 
a  sheriff  ain't  all  it  might  be  when  your  ideas  of  justice  and  liking 
gets  crossed.  I  didn't  ask  any  more  questions.  Peter  was  sober 
— he  only  lies  when  he's  drunk  and  not  having  any  wish  to  rouse 
Marg  I  just  come  away  and  burned  the  letter  what  you  sent. 
But  I've  done  some  thinking  on  my  own  'count  since  your  letter 
came  and  I  reckon  I've  studied  the  thing  clear  on  circumstantial 
evidence  which  is  what  I  mostly  have  to  go  on  in  the  sticks.  I 
certainly  done  you  a  black  insult  that  day  I  came  upon  you  and 
Nella-Rose.  I  didn't  let  on,  and  I  never  will,  about  her  being 
to  my  place,  but  no  wonder  the  poor  child  was  terrible  upset  when 
I  came  in.  She  had  come  to  me,  so  I  study  out,  and  found  you — 
a  stark  stranger!  How  you  ever  soothed  the  poor  little  thing 
I  don't  know — her  being  wild  as  a  flea — but  on  top  of  that,  in  I 
slam  and  lit  out  on  you  both  and  'corse  she  couldn't  'splain 
about  Burke  before  you  and  that's  plain  enough  what  she  had 
come  to  do,  and  I  didn't  leave  either  one  of  you  a  leg  to  stand  on. 
I've  been  pretty  low  in  my  spirits  I  can  tell  you  and  I  beg  your 
pardon  humble,  young  feller,  and  if  ever  I  can  do  Nella-Rose  a 
turn  by  letting  Burke  free,  no  matter  what  he  does — I  will! 
But  'tain't  likely  he'll  act  up  for  some  time.  Nella-Rose  always 
could  tame  him  and  he's  been  close  on  her  trail  ever  since  she 
was  a  toddler.  I'm  right  glad  they  took  things  in  their  own  hands 
and  left.  She  didn't  sense  the  right  black  meaning  I  had  in  my 
heart  that  day  when  she  ran — but  you  did  and  I  sure  am  ashamed 
of  the  part  I  done  played. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST  157 

If  you  can  overlook  what  no  man  has  a  call  to  overlook  in  an- 
other— your  welcome  is  red  hot  here  for  you  at  any  time  . 

JIM  WHITE 

Sheriff. 

Truedale  read  and  reread  this  amazing  production 
until  he  began  to  feel  his  way  through  the  tangle 
of  words  and  catch  a  meaning — false,  ridiculously 
false  of  course,  but  none  the  less  designed  as  an  ex- 
planation and  excuse.  Then  the  non-essentials 
dropped  away  and  one  bald  fact  remained!  True- 
dale  sank  back  in  his  chair,  turned  off  the  electric 
light,  and  closed  his  eyes. 

"Tired,  old  man?"  Kendall  asked  from  across 
the  hearth. 

"Yes.     Dead  tired." 

"You'll  travel  easier  when  you  get  the  gait/* 

"Undoubtedly." 

"Take  a  bit  of  a  nap,"  Lynda  suggested. 

"Thanks,  Lyn,  I  will."  Then  Truedale,  safe  from 
intrusion,  tried  to  make  his  way  out  of  the  maze 
into  which  he  had  been  thrown.  Slowly  he  re- 
covered from  the  effect  of  the  staggering  blow  and 
presently  got  to  the  point  where  he  felt  it  was  all  a 
cruel  lie  or  a  stupid  jest.  There  he  paused.  Jim 
was  not  the  kind  to  lie  or  joke  about  such  a  thing. 
It  was  a  mistake — surely  a  mistake.  He  would  go 
at  once  to  Pine  Cone  and  make  everything  right. 
Nella-Rose  could  not  act  alone.  Tradition,  train- 
ing, conspired  to  unfit  her  for  this  crisis;  but  that 


i58  THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 

she  had  gone  from  his  love  and  faith  into  the  arms 
of  another  man  was  incredible.  No;  she  was  safe, 
probably  in  hiding;  she  would  write  him.  She  had 
the  address — she  was  keen  and  quick,  even  though 
she  was  helpless  to  cope  with  the  lawlessness  of  her 
mountain  environment.  Truedale  saw  the  necessity 
of  caution,  not  for  himself,  but  for  Nella-Rose.  He 
could  not  go,  unaided,  to  search  for  her.  Evidently 
there  had  been  wild  doings  after  he  left;  no  one  but 
White  and  Nella-Rose  knew  of  his  actual  existence 
— he  must  utilize  White  in  assisting  him,  but  above 
all  he  must  expect  that  Nella-Rose  would  make  her 
whereabouts  known.  Never  for  a  moment  did  he 
doubt  her- or  put  any  credence  in  the  conclusions 
White  had  drawn.  How  little  Jim  really  knew! 
By  to-morrow  word  would  come  from  Nella-Rose; 
somehow  she  would  manage,  once  she  was  safe  from 
being  followed,  to  get  to  the  station  and  telegraph. 
But  there  could  be  no  leaving  the  girl  in  the  hills 
after  this;  he  must,  as  soon  as  he  located  her,  bring 
her  away;  bring  her  into  his  life — to  his  home  and 
hers ! 

A  cold  sweat  broke  out  on  Truedale's  body  as 
he  lashed  himself  unmercifully  in  the  still  room  where 
his  two  friends,  one  believing  him  asleep,  waited  for 
his  awakening. 

Well,  he  was  awake  at  last,  thank  God!  The 
only  difference  between  him  and  a  creature  such  as 
good  men  and  women  abhor  was  that  he  meant  to 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  159 

retrieve,  as  far  as  in  him  lay,  the  past  error  and  in- 
justice. All  his  future  life  should  prove  his  pur- 
pose. And  then,  like  a  sweet  fragrance  or  a  spirit 
touch,  his  love  pleaded  for  him.  He  had  been  weak, 
but  not  vicious.  The  unfettered  life  had  clouded 
his  reason,  and  his  senses  had  played  him  false,  but 
love  was  untarnished — and  it  was  love.  That 
girl  of  the  hills  was  the  same  now  as  she  had  always 
been.  She  would  accept  him  and  his  people  and  he 
would  make  her  life  such  that,  once  the  homesick- 
ness for  the  hills  was  past,  she  would  have  no  regrets. 

Then  another  phase  held  Truedale's  thought.  In 
that  day  when  Nella-Rose  accepted,  in  the  fullest 
sense,  his  people  and  his  people's  code — how  would 
he  stand  in  her  eyes?  A  groan  escaped  him,  then 
another,  and  he  started  nervously. 

"Con,  what  is  it — a  bad  dream?"  Lynda  touched 
his  arm  to  arouse  him. 

"Yes — a  mighty  bad  one!" 

"Tell  it  to  me.  Tell  it  while  it  is  fresh  in  your 
mind.  They  say  once  you  have  put  a  dream  in 
words,  its  effect  is  killed  forever." 

Truedale  turned  dark,  sorrowful  eyes  upon  Lynda. 

"I — I  wish  I  could  tell  it,"  he  said  with  a  serious- 
ness that  made  her  laugh,  "but  it  was  the  kind  that 
eludes — words.  The  creeping,  eating  impression 
— sort  of  nightmare.  Good  Lord !  how  nerves  play 
the  deuce  with  you." 

Brace   Kendall   did   not   speak.     From   his   place 


160  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

he  had  been  watching  Truedale,  for  the  firelight 
had  betrayed  the  truth.  Truedale  had  not  been 
sleeping:  Truedale  had  been  terribly  upset  by  that 
last  letter  of  his! 

And  just  then  Conning  leaned  forward  and  threw 
his  entire  mail  upon  the  blazing  logs ! 


CHAPTER  XI 

FOR  Truedale  to  await,  calmly,  further  develop- 
ments was  out  of  the   question.     He   did> 
however,  force  himself  to  act  as  sanely  as 
possible.     He  felt  confident  that  Nella-Rose,  safely 
hidden  and  probably  enjoying  it  in  her  own  elfish 
way,  would  communicate  with  him  in  a  few  days 
at  the   latest,   now  that  things   had,   according  to 
White,  somewhat  settled  into  shape  after  the  out- 
law Lawson  had  taken  himself  off  the  scene. 

To  get  to  the  station  and  telegraph  would  mean 
quite  a  feat  for  Nella-Rose  at  any  time,  and  winter 
was  in  all  likelihood  already  gripping  the  hills.  To 
write  and  send  a  letter  might  be  even  more  difficult. 
So  Truedale  reasoned;  so  he  feverishly  waited,  but 
he  was  not  idle.  He  rented  a  charming  little  suite 
of  rooms,  high  up  in  a  new  apartment  house,  and 
begged  Lynda  to  set  them  in  order  at  once.  Some- 
how he  believed  that  in  the  years  ahead,  after  she 
understood,  Lynda  would  be  glad  that  he  had  asked 
this  from  her. 

"But  why  the  hurry,  Con?"  she  naturally  ques- 
tioned; "if  people  are  going  to  be  so  spasmodic  I'll 
have  to  get  a  partner.  It  may  be  all  right,  looked  at 
financially,  but  it's  the  ruination  of  art." 

161 


162  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"  But  this  is  a  special  case,  Lyn." 

"They're  all  special  cases." 

"  But  this  is  a — welcome." 

"For  whom?" 

"Well,  for  me!  You  see  I've  never  had  a  real 
home,  Lyn.  It's  one  of  the  luxuries  I've  always 
dreamed  of." 

"I  had  thought,"  Lynda's  clear  eyes  clouded, 
"that  your  uncle's  house  would  be  your  home  at 
last.  It  is  big  enough  for  us  all — we  need  not  run 
against  each  other." 

"Keep  my  room  under  the  roof,  Lyn."  Truedale 
looked  at  her  yearningly  and  she — misunderstood! 
"I  shall  often  come  to  that — to  you  and  Brace — but 
humour  me  in  this  fancy  of  mine." 

So  she  humoured  him — working  early  and  late — 
putting  more  of  her  own  heart  in  it  than  he  was  ever 
to  know,  for  she  believed — poor  girl — that  he  would 
offer  it  to  her  some  day  and  then — when  he  found  out 
about  the  money — how  exactly  like  a  fairy  tale  it  all 
would  be!  And  Lynda  had  had  so  few  fairy  tales  in 
her  life. 

And  while  she  designed  and  Conning  watched 
and  suggested,  they  talked  of  his  long-neglected 
work. 

"You'll  have  time  soon,  Con,  to  give  it  your  best 
thought.  Did  you  do  much  while  you  were  away  ? " 

"Yes,  Lyn,  a  great  deal!"  Truedale  was  sitting 
by  the  tiny  hearth  in  his  diminutive  living  room. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  163 

He  and  Lynda  had  demanded,  and  finally  succeeded 
in  obtaining  an  open  space  for  real  logs;  disdaining, 
much  to  the  owner's  amazement,  an  asbestos  mat 
or  gas  monstrosity.  "I  really  put  blood  in  the 
thing." 

"And  when  may  I  hear  some  of  it?  I'm  wild  to 
get  back  to  our  beaten  tracks." 

Truedale  raised  his  eyes,  but  he  was  looking  beyond 
Lynda;  he  was  seeing  Nella-Rose  in  the  nest  he  was 
preparing  for  her. 

"Soon,  Lyn.  Soon.  And  when  you  do — you,  of 
all  the  world,  will  understand,  sympathize,  and  ap- 
prove." 

"Thank  you,  Con,  thank  you.  Of  course  I  will, 
but  it  is  good  to  have  you  know  it!  Let  me  see, 
what  colour  scheme  shall  we  introduce  in  the  living 
room  ? " 

"Couldn't  we  have  a  sort  of  blue-gray;  a  rather 
smoky  tint  with  sunshine  in  it?" 

"Good  heavens,  Con!  And  it  is  a  north  room, 
too." 

"Well,  then,  how  about  a  misty,  whitish 

"Worse  and  worse.  Con,  in  a  north  room  there 
must  be  warmth  and  real  colour." 

"There  will  be.  But  put  what  you  choose,  Lyn, 
it  will  surely  be  all  right." 

"Suppose,  then,  we  make  it  golden  brown,  or — 
dull,  soft  reds?" 

Truedale   recalled   the   shabby   little   shawl    that 


i64  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

Nella-Rose  had  worn  before  she  donned  her  winter 
disguise. 

"Make  it  soft  dull  red,  Lyn — but  not  too  dull." 

Truedale  no  longer  meant  to  lay  his  secret  bare 
before  departing  for  the  South.  While  he  would  not 
acknowledge  it  to  his  anxious  heart,  he  realized  that 
he  must  base  the  future  on  the  outcome  of  his  jour- 
ney. Once  he  laid  hands  upon  Nella-Rose,  he  would 
act  promptly  and  hopefully,  but — he  must  be  sure, 
now,  before  he  made  a  misstep.  There  had  been 
mistakes  enough,  heaven  knew;  he  must  no  longer 
play  the  fool. 

And  then  when  the  little  gilded  cage  was  ready, 
Truedale  conceived  his  big  and  desperate  idea.  Two 
weeks  had  passed  since  Jim  White's  letter  and  no 
telegram  or  note  had  come  from  Nella-Rose.  Neither 
love  nor  caution  could  wait  longer.  Truedale  de- 
cided to  go  to  Pine  Cone.  Not  as  a  returned  travel- 
ler, certainly  not — at  first — to  White,  but  to  Lone 
Dome,  and  there,  passing  himself  off  as  a  chance 
wayfarer,  he  would  gather  as  much  truth  as  he  could, 
estimate  the  value  of  it,  and  upon  it  take  his  future 
course.  In  all  probability,  he  thought — and  he  was 
almost  gay  now  that  he  was  about  to  take  matters 
into  his  own  hands — he  would  ferret  out  the  real 
facts  and  be  back  with  his  quarry  before  another 
week.  It  was  merely  a  matter  of  getting  the  truth 
and  being  on  the  spot. 

Nella-Rose's  family  might,  for  reasons  of  their  own, 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  165 

have  deceived  Jim  White.  Certainly  if  they  did 
not  know  at  the  time  of  Nella-Rose's  whereabouts 
they  would,  like  others,  voice  the  suspicion  of  the 
hills;  but  by  now  they  would  either  have  her  with 
them  or  know  positively  where  she  was.  For  all 
his  determination  to  believe  this,  Truedale  had  his 
moments  of  sickening  doubt.  The  simple.statement 
in  White's  letter,  burned,  as  time  went  on,  into  his 
very  soul. 

But,  whatever  came — whatever  there  was  to  know 
—he  meant  to  go  at  once  to  headquarters.  He  would 
remain,  too,  until  Peter  Greyson  was  sober  enough  to 
state  facts.  He  recalled  clearly  Jim's  estimate  of 
Greyson  and  his  dual  nature  depending  so  largely 
upon  the  effect  of  the  mountain  whisky. 

It  was  late  November  when  Truedale  set  forth. 
No  one  made  any  objection  to  his  going  now.  Things 
were  running  smoothly  and  if  he  had  to  go  at  all  to 
straighten  out  any  loose  ends,  he  had  better  go  at 
once. 

To  Lynda  the  journey  seemed  simple  enough. 
Truedale  had  left,  among  other  belongings,  his  manu- 
script and  books.  Naturally  he  would  not  trust 
them  to  another's  careless  handling. 

At  Washington,  Truedale  bought  a  rough  tramp- 
ing rig  and  continued  his  journey  with  genuine 
enjoyment  of  the  adventure.  Now  that  he  was 
nearing  the  scene  of  his  past  experience  he  could 
better  understand  the  delay.  Things  moved  so 


i66  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

slowly  among  the  hills  and  naturally  Nella-Rose, 
trusting  and  fond,  was  part  of  the  sluggish  life. 
How  she  would  show  her  small,  white  teeth  when, 
smiling  in  his  arms,  she  told  him  all  about  it!  It 
would  not  take  long  to  make  her  forget  the  weary 
time  of  absence  and  White's  misconception. 

Truedale  proceeded  by  deliberate  stages.  He 
wanted  to  gather  all  he  possibly  could  as  a  foundation 
upon  which  to  build.  The  first  day  after  he  left  the 
train  at  the  station — and  it  had  bumped  at  the  end 
of  the  rails  just  as  it  had  on  his  previous  trip — he 
walked  to  the  Centre  and  there  encountered  Merri- 
vale. 

"Well,  stranger,"  the  old  man  inquired,  "whar 
yer  goin',  if  it  ain't  askin'  too  much?" 

And  Truedale  expansively  explained.  He  was 
tramping  through  the  mountains  for  pure  enjoyment; 
had  heard  of  the  hospitality  he  might  expect  and 
meant  to  test  it. 

Merrivale  was  pleased  but  cautious.  He  was 
full  of  questions  himself,  but  ran  to  cover  every  time 
his  visitor  ventured  one.  Truedale  soon  learned  his 
lesson  and  absorbed  what  was  offered  without  openly 
claiming  more.  He  remained  over  night  with  Merri- 
vale and  stocked  up  the  next  morning  from  the  store. 

He  had  heard  much,  but  little  to  any  purpose. 
He  carried  away  with  him  a  pretty  clear  picture  of 
Burke  Lawson  who,  by  Merrivale's  high  favour, 
appeared  heroic.  The  storm,  the  search,  Lawson's 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  167 

escape  and  supposed  carrying  off  of  Nella-Rose,  were 
the  chief  topics  of  conversation.  Merrivale  chuckled 
in  delight  over  this. 

The  afternoon  of  the  second  day  Truedale  reached 
Lone  Dome  and  came  upon  Peter,  sober  and  sur- 
prisingly respectable,  sunning  himself  on  the  west  side 
of  the  house. 

The  first  glance  at  the  stately  old  figure,  gone  to 
decay  like  a  tree  with  dead  rot,  startled  and  amazed 
Truedale  and  he  thanked  heaven  that  the  master  of 
Lone  Dome  was  himself  and  therefore  to  be  relied 
upon;  no  one  could  possibly  suspect  Peter  of  cunning 
or  deceit  in  his  present  condition. 

Greyson  greeted  the  stranger  cordially.  He  was 
in  truth  desperately  forlorn  and  near  the  outer  edge 
of  endurance.  An  hour  more  and  he  would  have 
defied  the  powers  that  had  recently  taken  control  of 
him,  and  made  for  the  still  in  the  deep  woods;  but 
the  coming  of  Truedale  saved  him  from  that  and 
diverted  his  tragic  thoughts. 

The  fact  was  Marg  and  Jed  had  gone  away  to 
be  married.  Owing  to  the  death  of  the  near-by 
minister  in  the  late  storm,  they  had  to  travel  a 
considerable  distance  in  order  to  begin  life  according 
to  Marg's  strict  ideas  of  propriety.  Before  leaving 
she  had  impressed  upon  her  father  the  necessity  of 
his  keeping  a  clear  head  in  her  absence. 

"We-all  may  be  gone  days,  father,"  she  had  said, 
"and  yo'  certainly  do  drop  in  owdacious  places  when 


168  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

you're  drunk.  Yo'  might  freeze  or  starve.  Agin,  a 
lurking  beast,  hunting  fo'  food,  might  chaw  yo'  fo' 
yo'  got  yo'  senses." 

Something  of  this  Greyson  explained  to  his  guest 
while  setting  forth  the  evening  meal  and  apologizing 
for  the  lack  of  stimulant. 

"Being  her  marriage  trip  I  let  Marg  have  her 
way  and  a  mind  free  o'  worry  'bout  me.  But  women 
don't  understand,  God  bless  'em!  What's  a  drop 
in  yo'  own  home?  But  fo'  she  started  forth  Marg 
spilled  every  jug  onto  the  wood  pile.  When  I  see  the 
flames  extry  sparkling  I  know  the  reason!" 

Greyson  chuckled,  walking  to  and  fro  from  table 
to  pantry,  with  steady,  almost  dignified  strides. 

"That's  all  right,"  Truedale  hastened  to  say, 
"I'm  rather  inclined  to  agree  with  your  daughter; 
and — "  raising  the  concoction  Peter  had  evolved — 
"this  tea- 

"  Coffee,  sir." 

"Excuse  me!  This  coffee  goes  right  to  the 
spot." 

They  ate  and  grew  confidential.  Edging  close, 
but  keeping  under  cover,  Truedale  gained  the  con- 
fidence of  the  lonely,  broken  man  and,  late  in  the 
evening,  the  hideous  truth,  as  Truedale  was  compelled 
to  believe,  was  in  his  keeping. 

For  an  hour  Greyson  had  been  nodding  and  dozing; 
then,  apologetically,  rousing.  Truedale  once  sug- 
gested bed,  but  for  some  unexplainable  reason 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  169 

Peter  shrank  from  leaving  his  guest.  Then,  risking 
a  great  deal,  Truedale  asked  nonchalantly: 

"Have  you  other  children  besides  this  daughter 
who  is  on  her  wedding  trip?  It's  rather  hard — 
leaving  you  alone  to  shift  for  yourself." 

Greyson  was  alert.  Not  only  did  he  share  themoun- 
tain  dweller's  wariness  of  question,  but  he  instantly 
conceived  the  idea  that  the  stranger  had  heard 
gossip  and  he  was  in  arms  to  defend  his  own.  His 
ancestors,  who  long  ago  had  shielded  the  recreant 
great-aunt,  were  no  keener  than  Peter  now  was  to 
protect  and  preserve  the  honour  of  the  little  girl 
who,  by  her  recent  acts — and  Greyson  had  only 
Jed's  words  and  the  mountain  talk  to  go  by — had 
aroused  in  him  all  that  was  fine  enough  to  suffer. 
And  Greyson  was  suffering  as  only  a  man  can  who, 
in  a  rare  period  of  sobriety,  views  the  wrecks  of  his 
own  making. 

Ordinarily,  as  White  truly  supposed,  Peter  lied 
only  when  he  was  drunk;  but  the  sheriff  could  not 
estimate  the  vagaries  of  blood  and  so,  at  Truedale's 
question,  the  father  of  Nella-Rose,  with  the  gesture 
inherited  from  a  time  of  prosperity,  rallied  his  forces 
and  lied !  Lied  like  a  gentleman,  he  would  have  said. 
Broken  and  shabby  as  Greyson  was,  he  appeared, 
at  that  moment,  so  simple  and  direct,  that  his  listener, 
holding  to  the  sheriff's  estimate,  was  left  with  little 
doubt  concerning  what  he  heard.  He,  watching  the 
weak  and  agonized  face,  believed  Greyson  was  mak- 


i7o  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

ing  the  best  of  a  sad  business;  but  that  he  was  weav- 
ing from  whole  cloth  the  garment  that  must  cover 
the  past,  Truedale  in  his  own  misery  never  suspected. 
While  he  listened  something  died  within  him  never 
to  live  again. 

"Yes,  sir.  I  have  another  daughter — hTNella-Rose." 

Truedale  shaded  his  face  with  his  hand,  but  kept 
his  eyes  on  Greyson's  distorted  face. 

"Lil'  Nella-Rose.  I  have  to  keep  in  mind  her 
youth  and  enjoying  ways  or  I'd  be  right  hard  on 
Nella-Rose.  Yo'  may  have  heard,  while  travelling 
about — o'  Nella-Rose?"  This  was  asked  nervously 
— searchingly. 

"I've — I've  heard  that  name,"  Truedale  ventured. 
"It's  a  name  that — somehow  clings  and,  being  a 
writer-man,  everything  interests  me." 

Then  Greyson  gave  an  account  of  the  trap  episode 
tallying  so  exactly  with  White's  version  that  it 
established  a  firm  structure  upon  which  to  lay  all 
that  was  to  follow. 

"And  there  ain't  nothing  as  can  raise  a  woman's 
tenderness  and  loyalty  to  a  man,"  Greyson  went 
on,  "like  getting  into  a  hard  fix,  and  sho'  Burke 
Lawson  was  in  a  right  bad  fix. 

"I  begin  to  see  it  all  now.  Nella-Rose  went  to 
Merrivale's  and  he  told  her  Burke  had  come  back. 
Merrivale  told  me  that.  Naturally  it  upset  her  and 
she  followed  him  up  to  warn  him.  Think  o'  that  lil' 
girl  tracking  'long  the  hills,  through  all  that  storm, 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST  171 

to — to  save  the  man  she  had  played  with  and  flouted 
but  loved,  without  knowing  it!  Nella-Rose  was  like 
that.  She  lit  on  things  and  took  her  fun — but  in  the 
big  parts  she  always  did  come  out  strong." 

Truedale  shifted  his  position. 

"I  reckon  I'm  wearying  you  with  my  troubles?" 
Greyson  spoke  apologetically. 

"No,  no.     Go  on.     This  interests  me  very  much." 

"Well,  sir,  Burke  Lawson  and  Jed  Martin  came 
on  each  other  in  the  deep  woods  the  night  of  the 
big  storm  and  Burke  and  Jed  had  words  and  a  scene. 
Jed  owned  up  to  that.  It  was  life  and  death  and  I 
ain't  blaming  any  one  and  I  have  one  thing  to  thank 
Burke  for — he  might  have  done  different  and  left  a 
stain  on  a  lady's  name,  sir!  He  told  Jed  how  he  had 
seen  Nella-Rose  and  how  she  had  scorned  him  for 
being  a  coward,  but  how  she  would  take  her  words 
back  if  he  dared  come  out  and  show  his  head.  And 
he  'lowed  he  was  going  to  come  out  then  and  there, 
which  he  did,  and  he  and  Nella-Rose  was  going  off  to 
Cataract  Falls  where  the  Lawsons  hailed  from,  on 
the  mother's  side." 

"But — how  do  you  know  that  your  daughter  kept 
her  word?  This  Lawson  may  have  been  obliged  to 
make  away  with  himself — alone."  Truedale  grew 
more  daring.  He  saw  that  Greyson,  absorbed  by 
his  trouble,  was  less  on  guard.  But  Greyson  was 
keenly  observant. 

"He's  heard  the  gossip,"  thought  the  old  mar, 


172  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"it's  ringing  through  the  hills.  Well,  a  dog  as  can 
fetch  a  bone  can  carry  one!"  With  that  conclusion 
reached,  Peter  made  his  master  stroke. 

"I've  heard  from  her,"  he  half  whispered. 

"Heard  from  her?"  gasped  Truedale,  and  even 
then  Greyson  seemed  unaware  of  the  attitude  of  the 
stranger.  "How — did  you  hear  from  her?" 

"She  wrote  and  sent  the  letter  long  of — of  Bill 
Trim,  a .  half-wit — but  trusty.  Nella-Rose  went 
with  Lawson — she  'lowed  she  had  to.  He  came  on 
her  in  the  woods  and  held  her  to  her  word.  She 
said  as  how  she  wanted  to — to  come  home,  but  Law- 
son  set  forth  as  how  an  hour  might  mean  his  life — 
and  put  it  up  to  HI'  Nella-Rose!  He — he  swore  as 
how  he'd  shoot  himself  if  she  didn't  go  with  him — • 
and  it  was  like  Burke  to  do  it.  He  was  always  crazy 
mad  for  Nella-Rose,  and  there  ain't  anything  he 
wouldn't  do  when  he  got  balked.  She — she  had 
ter  go — or  see  Lawson  kill  himself;  so  she  went — 
but  asked  my  pardon  fo'  causing  the  deep  trouble. 
Lawson  married  her  at  the  first  stopping  place  over 
the  ridge.  He  ain't  worthy  o'  my  HI'  Nella-Rose — 
but  us-all  has  got  to  make  the  best  o'  it.  Come 
spring — she'll  be  back,  and  then — I'll  forgive  her 
-my  HI' Nella-Rose!" 

From  the  intensity  of  his  emotions  Greyson 
trembled  and  the  weak  tears  ran  down  his  lined  face. 
Taking  advantage  of  the  tense  moment  Truedale 
asked  desperately: 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  173 

"Will  you  show  me  that  letter,  Mr.  Greyson?" 

So  direct  was  the  request,  so  apparently  natural 
to  the  old  man's  unguarded  suffering,  that  it  drove 
superficialities  before  it  and  merely  confirmed  Grey- 
son  in  his  determination  to  save  Nella-Rose's  reputa- 
tion at  any  cost.  Ignoring  the  unwarrantable 
curiosity,  alert  to  the  necessity  of  quick  defense,  he 
said: 

"I  can't.  I  wish  to  Gawd  I  could  and  then  I 
could  stop  any  tongue  what  dares  to  tech  my  HI' 
gal's  name." 

"Why  can  you  not  show  me  the  letter?"  True- 
dale  was  towering  above  the  old  man.  By  some  un- 
known power  he  had  got  control  of  the  situation. 
"I  have  a  reason  for — asking  this,  Mr.  Greyson." 

"Marg  burned  it!  It  was  allus  Marg  or  HP 
Nella-Rose  for  Lawson,  and  Nella-Rose  got  him! 
When  Marg  knew  this  fur  certain,  there  was  no 
length  to  which  she — didn't  go!  This  is  my  home, 
sir;  I'm  old — Marg  is  a  good  girl  and  the  trouble  is 
past  now;  her  and  Jed  is  making  me  comfortable, 
but  we- all  don't  mention  Nella-Rose.  It  eases 
me,  though,  to  tell  the  truth  for  HI'  Nella-Rose.  I 
know  how  the  tongues  are  wagging  and  I  have  to 
sit  still  fo' — since  Marg  and  Jed  took  up  with  each 
other — my  future  lies  'long  o'  them.  I'm  an  old 
man  and  mighty  dependent;  time  was  when— 
Greyson  rose  unsteadily  and  swayed  toward  the 
fireplace. 


174  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"Gawd  a'mighty!"  he  flung  out  desperately, 
"how  I  want — whisky!" 

Truedale  saw  the  wildness  in  the  old  man's  eyes 
—saw  the  trembling  and  twitching  of  the  outstretched 
hands,  and  feared  what  might  be  the  result  of  trouble 
and  enforced  sobriety.  He  pulled  a  large  flask  from 
his  pocket  and  offered  it. 

"Here!"  he  said,  "take  a  swallow  of  this  and 
pull  yourself  together." 

Greyson,  with  a  cry,  seized  the  liquor  and  drained 
every  drop  before  Truedale  could  control  him. 

"God  bless  yo'!"  whined  Greyson,  sinking  back 
into  his  chair,  "bless  and — and  keep  yo'!" 

Truedale  dared  not  leave  the  house  though  his 
soul  recoiled  from  the  sight  before  him.  He  waited 
an  hour,  watching  the  effect  of  the  stimulant.  Grey- 
son  grew  mellow  after  a  time — at  peace  with  the 
world;  he  smiled  foolishly  and  became  maudlinly 
familiar.  Finally,  Truedale  approached  him  again. 
He  bent  over  him  and  shook  him  sharply. 

"Did  you  tell  me — the  truth — about — Nella- 
Rose?"  he  whispered  to  the  sagging,  blear-eyed 
creature. 

"Yes,  sir!"  moaned  Peter,  "I  sho'  did!' 

And  Truedale  did  not  reflect  that  when  Greyson 
was -drunk — he  lied! 

Truedale  never  recalled  clearly  how  he  spent 
the  hours  between  the  time  he  left  Greyson's  until 
he  knocked  on  the  door  of  White's  cabin;  but  it  was 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  175 

broad  daylight  and  bitingly  cold  when  Jim  flung  the 
door  open  and  looked  at  the  stranger  with  no  idea, 
for  a  moment,  that  he  had  ever  seen  him  before. 
Then,  putting  his  hand  out  wonderingly,  he  mut- 
tered : 

"Gawd!"  and  drew  Truedale  in.  Breakfast  was 
spread  on  the  table;  the  dogs  lay  before  the  blazing 
fire. 

"Eat!"  commanded  Jim,  "and  keep  yer  jaws 
shet  except  to  put  in  food." 

Conning  attempted  the  feat  but  made  a  pitiful 
showing. 

"Come  to  stay  on?" 

White's  curiosity  was  betraying  him  and  the 
sympathy  in  his  eyes  filled  Truedale  with  a  mad 
desire  to  take  this  "God's  man"  into  his  confidence. 

"No,  Jim.  I've  come  to  pack  and  go  back  to — 
to  my  job!" 

"Gosh!  it  can't  be  much  of  a  job  if  you  can  tackle 
it — lookin'  like  what  you  do!" 

"I've  been  tramping  for — for  days,  old  man! 
Rather  overdone  the  thing.  I'm  not  so  bad  as  I 
look." 

"Glad  to  hear  it!"  laconically. 

"I'll  put  up  with  you  to-night,  Jim,  if  you'll  take 
me  in. "  Truedale  made  an  effort  to  smile. 

"Provin'  there  ain't  any  hard  feeling?" 

"There  never  was,  White.     I — understood." 

"Shake!" 


i76  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

They  got  through  the  day  somehow.  The  crust 
was  forming  over  Truedale's  suffering;  he  no  longer 
had  any  desire  to  let  even  White  break  through  it. 
Once,  during  the  afternoon,  the  sheriff  spoke  of 
Nella-Rose  and  without  flinching  Truedale  listened. 

"That  gal  will  have  Burke  eatin'  out  o'  her  hand 
in  no  time.  Lawson  is  all  right  at  the  kernel,  all 
he  needed  was  some  one  ter  steady  him.  Once  I 
made  sure  he'd  married  the  gal,  I  felt  right  easy  in 
my  mind." 

"And  you — did  make  sure,  Jim?  There  was 
no  doubt?  I — I  remember  the  pretty  little  thing; 
it  would  have  been  damnable  to — to  hurt  her." 

"I  scrooged  the  main  fact  out  o'  old  Pete,  her 
father.  There  was  a  mighty  lot  o'  talk  in  the  hills, 
but  I  was  glad  ter  get  the  facts  and  shut  the  mouths 
o'  them  that  take  ter — ter  hissin'  like  all-fired  scor- 
pions! Nella-Rose  had  writ  to  her  father,  but  Marg, 
the  sister,  tore  the  letter  up  in  stormin'  rage  'cause 
Nella-Rose  had  got  the  man  she  had  sot  her  feelin's 
on.  Do  you  happen  to  call  ter  mind  what  I  once 
told  you  'bout  those  two  gals  and  a  little  white  hen?" 

Truedale  nodded. 

"Same  old  actin'  up!"  Jim  went  on.  "But 
when  Greyson  let  out  what  war  in  the  letter — knowin' 
Burke  like  what  I  do — I  studied  it  out  cl'ar  enough. 
Nella-Rose  was  sure  up  agin  blood  and  thunder 
whatever  way  yo'  put  it — so  she  ran  her  chances 
with  Burke.  There  ain't  much  choosin'  fo'  women 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  177 

in  the  hills  and  Burke  is  an  owdacious  fiery  feller, 
an'  he  ain't  ever  set  his  mind-  to  no  woman  but 
Nella-Rose." 

That  night  Truedale  went  to  his  old  cabin.  He 
built  a  fire  on  the  hearth,  drew  the  couch  before  it, 
and  then  the  battle  was  on — the  fierce,  relentless 
struggle.  In  it — Nella-Rose  escaped.  Like  a  bit  of 
the  mist  that  the  sun  burns,  so  she  was  purified — 
consumed  by  the  fire  of  Truedale's  remorse  and  shame. 
Not  for  a  moment  did  he  let  the  girl  bear  a  shadow 
of  blame — he  was  done  with  that  forever! — but  he 
held  himself  before  the  judgment  seat  of  his  own 
soul  and  he  passed  sentence  upon  himself  in  terms 
that  stern  morality  has  evolved  for  its  own  protec- 
tion. But  from  out  the  wreck  and  ruin  Truedale 
wrenched  one  sacred  truth  to  which  he  knew  he 
must  hold — or  sink  utterly.  He  could  not  expect 
any  one  in  God's  world  to  understand;  it  must  al- 
ways be  hidden  in  his  own  soul,  but  that  marriage 
of  his  and  Nella-Rose's  in  the  gray  dawn  after  the 
storm  had  been  holy  and  binding  to  him.  From 
now  on  he  must  look  upon  the  little  mountain  girl 
as  a  dear,  dead  wife — one  whose  childish  sweetness 
was  part  of  a  time  when  he  had  learned  to  laugh  and 
play,  and  forget  the  hard  years  that  had  gone  to 
his  un-making,  not  his  upbuilding. 


CHAPTER  XII 

TRUEDALE  travelled  back  to  the  place  of  his 
new  life  bearing  his   books,   his    unfinished 
play,  and  his  secret  sorrow  with  him.      His 
books  and  papers  were  the  excuse  for  his  journey; 
for   the    rest,    no    one    suspected    nor — so    thought 
Truedale — was  any  one  ever  to  know.     That  part 
of  his  life-story  was  done  with;  it  had  been  inter- 
preted bunglingly  and  ignorantly  to  be  sure,  but  the 
lesson,  learned  by  failure,  had  sunk  deep  in  his  heart. 

He  arranged  his  private  work  in  the  little  room 
under  the  eaves.  He  intended,  if  time  were  ever 
his  again,  to  begin  where  he  had  left  off  when  broken 
health  interrupted. 

In  the  extension  room  over  William  Truedale's 
bedchamber  Lynda  carried  on  her  designing  and 
her  study;  her  office,  uptown,  was  reserved  for 
interviews  and  outside  business.  Her  home  work- 
shop had  the  feminine  touch  that  the  other  lacked. 
There  were  her  tea  table  by  the  hearth,  work  bags 
of  dainty  silk,  and  flowers  in  glass  vases.  The  dog 
and  the  cats  were  welcome  in  the  pleasant  room  and 
sedately  slept  or  rolled  about  while  the  mistress 
worked.  - 

But  Truedale,  while  much  in  the  old  home,  still 

178 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  179 

kept  his  five-room  flat.  He  bought  a  good,  service- 
able dog  that  preferred  a  bachelor  life  to  any  other 
and  throve  upon  long  evening  strolls  and  erratic  feed- 
ing. There  were  plants  growing  in  the  windows — 
and  these  Conning  looked  after  with  conscientious 
care. 

When  the  first  suffering  and  sense  of  abasement 
passed,  Truedale  discovered  thac  life  in  his  little 
apartment  was  not  only  possible,  but  also  his 
salvation.  All  the  spiritual  essence  left  in  him  sur- 
vived best  in  those  rooms.  As  time  went  by  and 
Nella-Rose  as  an  actuality  receded,  her  memory  re- 
mained unembittered.  Truedale  never  cast  blame 
upon  her,  though  sometimes  he  tried  to  view  her 
from  the  outsider's  position.  No;  always  she  eluded 
the  material  estimate. 

"Not  more  than  half  real,"  so  White  had  por- 
trayed her,  and  as  such  she  gradually  became  to 
Truedale. 

He  plunged  into  business,  as  many  a  man  had 
before  him,  to  fill  the  gaps  in  his  life;  and  he  found, 
as  others  had,  that  the  taste  of  power — the  discovery 
that  he  could  meet  and  fulfil  the  demands  made 
upon  him — carried  him  out  of  the  depths  and  even- 
tually secured  a  place  for  him  in  the  world  of  men 
that  he  valued  and  strove  to  prove  himself  worthy  of. 
He  wisely  went  slowly  and  took  the  advice  of  such 
men  as  McPherson  and  his  uncle's  old  lawyer.  He 
grew  in  time  to  enjoy  the  position  of  trust  as  his 


i8o  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

duties  multiplied,  and  he  often  wondered  how  he 
could  ever  have  despised  the  common  lot  of  his 
fellows.  He  deliberately,  and  from  choice,  set  his 
personal  tastes  aside — time  enough  for  his  reading 
and  writing  when  he  had  toughened  his  mental 
muscles,  he  thought.  Lynda  deplored  this,  but 
Truedale  explained: 

"You  see,  Lyn,  when  I  began  to  carve  the  thing 
out — the  play,  you  know — I  had  no  idea  how  to 
handle  the  tools;  like  many  fools  with  a  touch  of 
talent,  I  thought  I  could  manage  without  preparation. 
I've  learned  better.  You  cannot  get  a  thing  over  to 
people  unless  you  know  something  of  life — speak  the 
language.  I'm  learning,  and  when  I  feel  that  I  can- 
not help  writing — I'll  write." 

"Good!"  Lynda  saw  his  point;  "and  now  let's 
haunt  the  theatres — see  the  machinery  in  run- 
ning order.  We'll  find  out  what  people  want  and 
why." 

So  they  went  to  the  theatre  and  read  plays. 
Brace  made  the  wholesome  third  and  their  lives  set- 
tled into  calm  enjoyment  that  was  charming  but 
which  sometimes — not  often,  but  occasionally- 
made  Lynda  pause  and  consider.  It  would  not  do — 
for  Con — to  fall  into  a  pace  that  might  defeat  his 
best  good. 

But  this  thought  brought  a  deep  crimson  to  the 
girl's  cheeks. 

And  then  something  happened.     It  was  so  subtle 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  181 

that  Lynda  Kendall,  least  of  all,  realized  the  true 
significance. 

Once  in  the  early  days  of  her  secured  self-support, 
William  Truedale  had  said  to  her: 

"You  give  too  much  attention,  girl,  to  your  tailor 
and  too  little  to  your  dressmaker." 

Lynda  had  laughingly  called  her  friend  frivolous 
and  defended  her  wardrobe. 

"One  cannot  doll  up  for  business,  Uncle  William." 

"Is  business  your  whole  life,  Lynda?  If  so  you 
had  better  reform  it.  If  women  are  going  to  pattern 
their  lives  after  men's  they  must  go  the  whole  way. 
A  sensible  man  recognizes  the  need  of  shutting  the 
office  door  sometimes  and  putting  on  his  dress  suit." 

"Well,  but  Uncle  William,  what  is  the  matter 
with  this  perfectly  built  suit?  I  always  slip  a  fresh 
blouse  on  when  I  am  off  duty.  I  hate  to  be  always 
changing." 

"If  you  had  a  mother,  Lynda,  she  would  make  you 
see  what  I  mean.  An  old  fungus  like  me  cannot  be 
expected  to  command  respect  from  such  an  up-to-date 
humbug  as  you!" 

They  had  laughed  it  off  and  Lynda  had,  once 
or  twice,  donned  a  house  gown  to  please  her  critical 
friend,  but  eventually  had  slipped  back  into  suits  and 
blouses. 

All  of  a  sudden  one  day — it  was  nearing  holiday 
time — she  left  her  workroom  at  midday  and,  almost 
shamefacedly,  "went  shopping."  As  the  fever  got 


1 82  THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 

into  her  blood  she  became  reckless,  and  by  five  o'clock 
had  bought  and  ordered  home  more  delicate  and 
exquisite  finery  than  she  had  ever  owned  in  all  her 
life  before. 

"It's  scandalous!"  she  murmured  to  her  gay, 
young  heart,  "an  awful  waste  of  good  money,  but  for 
the  first  time,  I  see  how  women  can  get  clothes-mad." 

She  devoted  the  hour  and  a  half  before  dinner  to 
locating  an  artistic  dressmaker  and  putting  herself  in 
her  hands. 

The  result  was  both  startling  and  exciting.  The 
first  gown  to  come  home  was  a  dull,  golden-brown 
velvet  thing  so  soft  and  clinging  and  individual  that 
it  put  its  wearer  into  quite  a  flutter.  She  "did" 
and  undid  her  hair,  and,  in  the  process,  discovered 
that  if  she  pulled  the  "sides"  loose  there  was  a  ten- 
dency to  curl  and  the  effect  was  distinctly  charming 
— with  the  strange  gown,  of  course!  Then,  marshal- 
ling all  her  courage,  she  trailed  down  to  the  library 
and  thanked  heaven  when  she  found  the  room  empty. 
It  would  be  easier  to  occupy  the  stage  than  to  make 
a  late  entrance  when  the  audience  was  in  position. 
So  Lynda  sat  down,  tried  to  read,  but  was  so  nervous 
that  her  eyes  shone  and  her  cheeks  were  rosy. 

Brace  and  Conning  came  in  together.  "Look 
who's  here!"  was  Kendall's  brotherly  greeting. 
"Gee!  Con,  look  at  our  lady  friend!"  He  held 
his  sister  ofF  at  arms'  length  and  commented  upon 
her  "points." 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  183 

"I  didn't  know  your  hair  curled,  Lyn." 

"I  didn't,  myself,  until  this  afternoon.  You 
see,"  she  trembled  a  bit,  "now  that  I  do  not  have  to 
go  in  the  subway  to  business  there's  no  reason  for 
excluding — this  sort  of  thing"  (she  touched  the 
pretty  gown),  "and  once  you  let  yourself  go,  you  do 
not  know  where  you  will  land.  Curls  go  with  these 
frills;  slippers,  too — look!" 

Then  she  glanced  up  at  Conning. 

"Do  you  think  I'm  very — frivolous?"  she  asked. 

"I  never  knew" — he  was  gazing  seriously  at  her- — 
"how  handsome  you  are,  Lyn.  Wear  that  gown 
morning,  noon  and  night;  it's  stunning." 

"I'm  glad  you  both  like  it.  I  feel  a  little  unusual 
in  it — but  I'll  settle  down.  I  have  been  a  trifle  prim 
in  dress." 

Like  the  giant's  robe,  Lynda  Kendall's  garments 
seemed  to  transform  her  and  endow  her  with  the 
attributes  peculiar  to  themselves.  So  gradually, 
that  it  caused  no  wonder,  she  developed  the  blessed 
gift  of  charm  and  it  coloured  life  for  herself  and 
others  like  a  glow  from  a  hidden  fire. 

All  this  did  not  interfere  with  her  business.  Once 
she  donned  her  working  garb  she  was  the  capable 
Lynda  of  the  past.  A  little  more  sentiment,  per- 
haps, appeared  in  her  designs — a  wider  conception; 
but  that  was  natural,  for  happiness  had  come  to  her 
— and  a  delicious  sense  of  success.  She,  womanlike, 
began  to  rejoice  in  her  power.  She  heard  of  John 


1 84  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

Morrell's  marriage  to  a  young  western  girl,  about 
this  time,  with  genuine  delight.  Her  sky  was  clear- 
ing of  all  regrets. 

"Morre'll  was  in  the  office  to-day,"  Brace  told  his 
sister  one  evening,  "it  seemed  to  me  a  bit  brash 
for  him  to  lay  it  on  so  thick  about  his  happiness 
and  all  that  sort  of  rot." 

"Brace!" 

"Well,  it  might  be  all  right  to  another  fellow,  but 
it  sounded  out  of  tune,  somehow,  to  me.  He  says 
she  is  the  kind  that  has  flung  herself  body  and  soul 
into  love;  I  wager  she's  a  fool." 

Lynda  looked  serious  at  once. 

"I  hope  not,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  "and  she'll 
be  happier  with  John,  in  the  long  run,  if  she  has  some 
reservations.  I  did  not  think  that  once;  I  do  now." 

"  But — you,  Lyn  ?     You  had  reservations  to  burn." 

"I  had — too  many.  That  was  where  the  mistake 
began." 

"You — do  not  regret?" 

Lynda  came  close  to  him. 

"Brace,  I  regret  nothing."  I  am  learning  that 
every  step  leads  to  the  next — if  you  don't  stumble. 
If  you  do — you  have  to  pick  yourself  up  and  go 
back.-  If  John  learned  from  me,  I,  too,  have  learned 
from  him.  I'm  going  to  try  to — love  his  wife. " 

"I  bet  she's  a  cross,  somehow,  between  a  cowboy 
and  an  idiot.  John  protested  too  much  about  her 
charms.  She's  got  a  sister — sounds  a  bit  to  me  as  if 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  185 

Morrell  had  married  them  both.  She's  coming  to 
live  with  them  after  awhile.  When  I  fall  in  love, 
it's  going  to  be  with  an  orphan  out  of  an  asylum." 

Lynda  laughed  and  gave  her  brother  a  hug.  Then 
she  said: 

"Our  circle  is  widening  and,  by  the  way  Brace, 
I'm  going  to  begin  to  entertain  a  little." 

"  Good  Lord,  Lyn!" 

"Oh!  modestly — until  I  can  use  my  stiff  little 
wings.  A  dinner  now  and  then  and  a  luncheon 
occasionally  when  I  know  enough  nice  women  to 
make  a  decent  showing.  Clothes  and  women,  when 
adopted  late  in  life,  are  difficult.  But  oh!  Brace,  it 
is  great — this  blessed  home  life  of  mine !  The  coming 
away  from  my  beloved  work  to  something  even 
better." 


The  pulse  of  a  city  throbs  faster  in  the  winter. 
All  the  vitality  of  well-nourished  men  and  women 
is  at  its  fullest,  while  for  them  who  fall  below  the 
normal,  the  necessity  of  the  struggle  for  existence 
keys  them  to  a  high  pitch.  Not  so  in  the  deep,  far 
mountain  places.  There,  the  inhabitants  hide  from 
the  elements  and  withdraw  into  themselves.  For 
weeks  at  a  time  no  human  being  ventures  forth  from 
the  shelter  and  comparative  comfort  of  the  dull 
cabins.  Families,  pressed  thus  close  and  debarred 
from  the  freedom  of  the  open,  suffer  mentally  and 


1 86  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

spiritually  as  one  from  the  wider  haunts  of  men  can 
hardly  conceive. 

When  Nella-Rose  turned  away  from  Truedale  that 
golden  autumn  day,  she  faced  winter  and  the  shut-in 
terrors  of  the  cold  and  loneliness.  In  two  weeks  the 
last  vestige  of  autumn  would  be  past,  and  the  girl 
could  not  contemplate  being  imprisoned  with  Marg 
and  her  father  while  waiting  for  love  to  return  to  her. 
She  paused  on  the  wet,  leafy  path  and  considered. 
She  had  told  Truedale  that  she  would  go  home,  but 
what  did  it  matter.  She  would  go  to  Miss  Lois  Ann's. 
She  would  know  when  Truedale  returned;  she  could 
go  to  him.  In  the  meantime  no  human  being  would 
annoy  her  or  question  her  in  that  cabin  far  back  in 
the  Hollow.  And  Lois  Ann  would  while  away  the 
long  hours  by  story  and  song.  It  seemed  to  her 
there  was  but  one  thing  to  do — and  Nella-Rose  did 
it !  She  fled  to  the  woman  whose  name  Truedale  had 
barely  heard. 

It  took  her  three  good  hours  to  make  the  distance 
to  the  Hollow  and  it  was  quite  dark  when  she  tapped 
on  the  door  of  the  little  cabin.  To  all  appearances 
the  place  was  deserted;  but  after  the  second  knock  a 
shutter"  to  the  right  of  the  door  was  pushed  open  and 
a  long,  lean  hand  appeared  holding  a  lighted  candle, 
while  a  deep,  rich  voice  called: 

"Who?" 

"Jes'  Nella-Rose!" 

The  hand  withdrew,  the  shutter  was  closed,  and 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  187 

in  another  minute  the  door  was  flung  wide  and 
the  girl  drawn  into  the  warm,  comfortable  room. 
Supper,  of  a  better  sort  than  most  hill-women  knew, 
was  spread  out  on  a  clean  table,  and  in  the  cheer  and 
safety  Nella-Rose  expanded  and  decided  to  take  the 
old  woman  into  her  confidence  at  once  and  so  secure 
present  comfort  until  Truedale  came  back  to  claim  her. 

This  Lois  Ann,  in  whose  sunken  eyes  eternal 
youth  burned  and  glowed,  was  a  mystery  in  the  hills 
and  was  never  questioned.  Long  ago  she  had  come, 
asked  no  favours,  and  settled  down  to  fare  as  best 
she  could.  There  was  but  one  sure  passport  to  her 
sanctuary.  That  was — trouble!  Once  misfortune 
overtook  one,  sex  was  forgotten,  but  at  other  times 
it  was  understood  that  Miss  Lois  Ann  had  small 
liking  or  sympathy  for  men,  while  on  the  other  hand 
she  brooded  over  women  and  children  with  the  ever- 
lasting strength  of  maternity. 

It  was  suspected,  and  with  good  reason,  that  many 
refugees  from  justice  passed  through  Miss  Lois 
Ann's  front  door  and  escaped  by  other  exits.  Officers 
of  the  law  had,  more  than  once,  traced  their  quarry 
to  the  dreary  cabin  and  demanded  entrance  for 
search.  This  was  always  promptly  given,  but  never 
had  a  culprit  been  found  on  the  premises!  White 
understood  and  admired  the  old  woman;  he  always 
halted  justice,  if  possible,  outside  her  domain,  but, 
being  a  hill-man,  Jim  had  his  suspicions  which  he 
never  voiced. 


188  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"So  now,  honey,  what  yo'  coming  to  me  fo' 
this  black  night?"  said  Lois  Ann  to  Nella-Rose  after 
the  evening  meal  was  cleared  away,  the  fire  replen- 
ished, and  "with  four  feet  on  the  fender"  the  two 
were  content.  "Trouble?"  The  wonderful  eyes 
searched  the  happy,  young  face  and  at  the  glance, 
Nella-Rose  knew  that  she  was  compelled  to  confide ! 
There  was  no  choice.  She  felt  the  power  closing 
in  about  her,  she  found  it  not  so  easy  as  she  had 
supposed,  to  explain.  She  sparred  for  time. 

"Tell  me  a  right,  nice  story,  Miss  Lois  Ann,"  she 
pleaded,  "and  of  course  it's  no  trouble  that  has 
brought  me  here!  Trouble!  Huh!" 

"What  then?"  And  now  Nella-Rose  sank  to  the 
hearthstone  and  bent  her  head  on  the  lap  of  the  old 
woman.  It  was  more  possible  to  speak  when  she 
could  escape  those  seeking  eyes.  She  closed  her 
own  and  tried  to  call  Truedale  to  the  dark  space  and 
to  her  support — but  he  would  not  come. 

"  So  it  is  trouble,  then  ? " 

"No,  no!     it's — oh!  it's  the — joy,  Miss  Lois  Ann." 

"Ha!  ha!  And  you've  found  out  that  the  young 
scamp  is  back — that  Lawson?"  Lois  Ann,  for  a 
moment,  knew  relief. 

"It — it  isn't  Burke,"  the  words  came  lingeringly. 
"Yes,  I  know  he's  back — is  he  here?"  This  af- 
frightedly. 

"No — but  he's  been.  He  may  come  again.  His 
maw's  always  empty,  but  I  will  say  this  for  the 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  189 

scoundrel — he  gives  more  than  he  takes,  in  the  long 
run.  But  if  it  isn't  Lawson,  who  then?  Not  that 
snake-in-the-grass,  Jed?"  Love  and  trouble  were 
synonymous  with  Lois  Ann  when  one  was  young 
and  pretty  and  a  fool. 

"Jed?  Jed  indeed!" 

"Child,  out  with  it!" 

"I — I  am  going  to  tell  you,  Miss  Lois  Ann." 

Then  the  knotted  old  hand  fell  like  a  withered 
leaf  upon  the  soft  hair — the  woman-heart  was  ready 
to  bear  another  burden.  Not  a  word  did  the  closed 
lips  utter  while  the  amazing  tale  ran  on  and  on  in 
the  gentle  drawl.  Consternation,  even  doubt  of  the 
girl's  sanity,  held  part  in  the  old  woman's  keen  mind, 
but  gradually  the  truth  of  the  confession  established 
itself,  and  once  the  fact  was  realized  that  a  stranger — 
and  such  a  one — had  been  hidden  in  the  hills  while 
this  thing,  that  the  girl  was  telling,  was  going  on— 
the  strong,  clear  mind  of  the  listener  interpreted 
the  truth  by  the  knowledge  gained  through  a  long, 
hard  life. 

"And  so,  you  see,  Miss  Lois  Ann,  it's  like  he  opened 
heaven  for  me;  and  I  want  to  hide  here  till  he 
comes  to  take  me  up,  up  into  heaven  with  him.  And 
no  one  else  must  know." 

Lois  Ann  had  torn  the  cawl  from  Nella-Rose's 
baby  face — had  felt,  in  her  superstitious  heart,  that 
the  child  was  mysteriously  destined  to  see  wide  and 
far;  and  now,  with  agony  that  she  struggled  to  con- 


190  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

ceal,  she  knew  that  to  her  was  given  the  task  of 
drawing  the  veil  from  the  soul  of  the  girl  at  her  feet 
in  order  that  she  might  indeed  see  far  and  wide  into 
the  kingdom  of  suffering  women. 

For  a  moment  the  woman  fenced,  she  would  put 
the  cup  from  her  if  she  could,  like  all  humans  who 
understand. 

"You — are  yo'  lying  to  me?"  she  asked  faintly, 
and  oh,  but  she  would  have  given  much  to  hear 
the  girl's  impish  laugh  of  assent.  Instead,  she 
saw  Nella-Rose's  eyes  grow  deadly  serious. 

"It's  no  lie,  Miss  Lois  Ann;  it's  a  right  beautiful 
truth." 

"And  for  days  and  nights  you  stayed  alone  with 
this  man?" 

The  lean  hand,  with  unrelenting  strength,  now 
gripped  the  drooping  face  and  held  it  firmly  while 
the  firelight  played  full  upon  it,  meanwhile  the 
keen  old  eyes  bored  into  Nella-Rose's  very  soul. 

"  But  he — he  is  my  man !  You  forget  the — marry- 
ing on  the  hill,  Miss  Lois  Ann!" 

The  voice  was  raised  a  bit  and  the  colour  left  the 
trembling  lips. 

"Your  man!"     And  a  bitter  laugh  rang  out  wildly. 

"Stop,  Miss  Lois  Ann!  Yo'  shall  not  look  at 
me  like  that!" 

The  vision  was  dulled — Nella-Rose  shivered. 

"You  shall  not  look  at  me  like  that;  God  would 
not — why  should  you  ? " 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  191 

"God!" — the  cracked  voice  spoke  the  word  bit- 
terly. "God!  What  does  God  care  for  women? 
It's  the  men  as  God  made  things  for,  and  us-all  has  to 
fend  them  off — men  and  God  are  agin  us  women!" 

"No,  no!     Let  me  free.      I  was  so  happy  until— 
Oh !  Miss  Lois  Ann,  you  shall  not  take  my  happiness 
away." 

"Yo'  came  to  the  right  place,  yo'  po'  hT  chile." 

The  eyes  had  seen  all  they  needed  to  see  and  the 
hand  let  drop  the  pretty,  quivering  face. 

"We'll  wait — oh!  certainly  we- all  will  wait  a 
week;  two  weeks;  then  three.  An'  we-all  will  hide 
close  and  see  what  we-all  shall  see!"  A  hard, 
pitiful  laugh  echoed  through  the  room.  "And 
now  to  bed!  Take  the  closet  back  o'  my  chamber. 
No  one  can  reach  yo'  there,  chile.  Sleep  and  dream 
and — forget." 

And  that  night  Burke  Lawson,  after  an  hour's 
struggle,  determined  to  come  forth  among  his  kind 
and  take  his  place.  Nella-Rose  had  decided  him. 
He  was  tired  of  hiding,  tired  of  playing  his  game. 
One  look  at  the  face  he  had  loved  from  its  babyhood 
had  turned  the  tide.  Lawson  had  never  before  been 
so  long  shut  away  from  his  guiding  star.  And  she 
had  said  that  he  might  ask  again  when  he  dared— 
and  so  he  came  forth  from  his  cave-place.  Once 
outside,  he  drew  a  deep,  free  breath,  turned  his 
handsome  face  to  the  sky,  and  felt  the  prayer  that 
another  might  have  voiced. 


192  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

He  thought  of  Nella-Rose,  remembered  her  Iovec 
of  adventure,  her  splendid  courage  and  spirit.  Noth- 
ing so  surely  could  win  her  as  the  proposal  he  was 
about  to  make.  To  ask  her  to  remain  at  Pine  Cone 
and  settle  down  with  him  as  her  hill-billy  would 
hold  small  temptation,  but  to  take  her  away  to  new 
and  wider  fields — that  was  another  matter!  And 
go  they  would — he  and  she.  He  would  get  a  horse 
somewhere,  somehow.  With  Nella-Rose  behind 
him,  he  would  never  stop  until  a  parson  was  reached, 
and  after  that — why  the  world  would  be  theirs  from 
which  to  choose. 

And  it  was  at  that  point  of  Lawson's  fervid, 
religious  state  that  Jed  Martin  had  materialized 
and  made  it  imperative  that  he  be  dealt  with  sum- 
marily and  definitely. 

After  confiding  his  immediate  future  to  the  sub- 
jugated Martin —  having  forced  him  to  cover  at  the 
point  of  a  pistol — Burke,  with  his  big,  wholesome 
laugh,  crawled  again  out  of  the  cave.  Then,  raising 
himself  to  his  full  height,  he  strode  over  the  sodden 
trail  toward  White's  cabin  with  the  lightest,  purest 
heart  he  had  carried  for  many  a  day.  But  Fate 
had  an  ugly  trick  in  store  for  him.  He  was  half 
way  to  White's  when  he  heard  steps.  Habit  was 
strong.  He  promptly  climbed  a  tree.  The  moon 
came  out  just  then  and  disclosed  the  follower. 
"Blake's  dawg,"  muttered  Lawson  and,  as  the  big 
hound  took  his  stand  under  the  tree,  he  under- 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  193 

stood  matters.  Blake  was  his  worst  enemy;  he 
had  a  score  to  settle  about  the  revenue  men  and  a 
term  in  jail  for  which  Lawson  was  responsible. 
While  the  general  hunt  was  on,  Blake  had  entered 
in,  thinking  to  square  things,  while  not  bringing 
himself  into  too  much  prominence. 

"Yo'  infernal  critter!"  murmured  Lawson,  "in 
another  minute  you'll  howl,  yo'  po'  brute.  I  hate 
ter  shoot  yo' — yo'  being  what  yo'  are — but  here 
goes." 

After  that  White's  was  impossible  for  a  time 
and  Nella-Rose  must  wait.  In  a  day  or  so,  prob- 
ably— so  Burke  quickly  considered — he  could  make 
a  dash  back,  get  White  to  help  him,  and  bear  off 
his  prize,  but  for  the  moment  the  sooner  he  reached 
safety  beyond  the  ridge,  the  better.  Shooting  a 
dog  was  no  light  matter. 

Lawson  reached  safety  but  with  a  broken  leg;  for, 
going  down-stream,  he  had  met  with  misfortune 
and,  during  that  long,  hard  winter,  unable  to  fend 
for  himself,  he  was  safely  hidden  by  a  timely  friend 
and  served  by  a  doctor  who  was  smuggled  to  the 
scene  and  well  paid  for  his  help  and  silence. 

And  in  Lois  Ann's  cabin  Nella-Rose  waited, 
at  first  with  serene  hope,  and  then,  with  pitiful  long- 
ing. She  and  the  old  woman  never  referred  to  the 
conversation  of  the  first  night  but  the  girl  was  sure 
she  was  being  watched  and  shielded  and  she  felt  the 
doubt  and  scorn  in  the  attitude  of  Lois  Ann. 


194  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"I'll — I'll  send  for  my  man,"  at  last  she  desper- 
ately decided  at  the  end  of  the  second  week.  But 
she  dared  not  risk  a  journey  to  the  far  station  in 
order  to  send  a  telegram.  So  she  watched  for  a 
chance  to  send  a  letter  that  she  had  carefully  and 
painfully  written. 

"I'm  to  Miss  Lois  Ann's  in  Devil-may-come 
Hollow.  I'm  trusting  and  loving  you,  but  Miss  Lois 
Ann — don't  believe!  So  please,  Mister  Man  come 
and  tell  her  and  then  go  back  and  I  will  wait — most 
truly 

Your  Nella-Rose." 

then  she  crossed  the  name  out  and  scribbled  "Your 
doney-gal." 

It  was  early  in  the  third  week  that  Bill  Trim  came 
whistling  down  the  trail,  on  a  cold,  bitterly  cold, 
November  morning.  He  bore  a  load  of  "grateful 
gifts"  to  Lois  Ann  from  men  and  women  whom  she 
had  succoured  in  times  of  need  and  who  always  re- 
membered her,  practically,  when  winter  "set." 

Bill  was  a  half-wit  but  as  strong  as  an  ox;  and, 
once  set  upon  a  task,  managed  it  in  a  way 
that  had  given  him  a  secure  position  in  the  com- 
munity. He  carried  mail  into  the  remotest  dis- 
tricts— when  there  was  any  to  carry.  He  "toted" 
heavy  loads  and  gathered  gossip  and  spilled  it  liber- 
ally. He  was  impersonal,  ignorant,  and  illiterate, 
but  he  did  his  poor  best  and  grovelled  at  the  feet  of 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  195 

any  one  who  showed  him  the  least  affection.  He  was 
horribly  afraid  of  Lois  Ann  for  no  reason  that  he 
could  have  given;  he  was  afraid  of  her  eyes — her 
thin,  claw-like  hands.  As  he  now  delivered  the 
bundles  he  had  for  her  he  accepted  the  food  she  gave 
and  then  darted  away  to  eat  it  in  comfort  beyond 
the  reach  of  those  glances  he  dreaded. 

And  there  Nella-Rose  sought  him  and  sat  beside 
him  with  a  choice  morsel  she  had  saved  from  her 
finer  fare. 

"Trim,"  she  whispered  when  he  was  about  to  start, 
"here  is  a  letter — Miss  Lois  Ann  wants  you  to  mail." 

The  bright  eyes  looked  yearningly  into  the  dull, 
hopeless  face. 

"I— hate  the  ole  *un!"  confided  Bill. 

"But  yo'  don't  hate  me,  Bill?" 

"No." 

"Well,  then,  do  it  for  me,  but  don't  tell  a  living 
soul  that  you  saw  me.  See,  Bill,  I  have  a  whole 
dollar — I  earned  it  by  berry-picking.  Pay  for  the 
letter  and  then  keep  the  rest.  And  if  you  ever  see 
Marg,  and  she  asks  about  me — and  whether  you've 
seen  me — tell  her"  (and  here  Nella-Rose's  white 
teeth  gleamed  in  the  mischievous  smile),  "tell  her 
you  saw  me  walking  in  the  Hollow  with  Burke 
Lawson ! " 

The  dull  fellow  shook  with  foolish  laughter.  "I 
sho'  will!"  he  said,  and  then  tucked  the  letter  and 
dollar  bill  in  the  breast  of  his  shirt.  "And  now,  HI' 


196  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

doney-gal,  let  me  touch  yo'  hand,"  he  pleaded,  "this 
— er — way."  And  like  a  poor  frayed,  battered 
knight  he  pressed  his  lips  to  the  small,  brown  hand 
of  the  one  person  who  had  always  been  kind  to  him. 

At  sunset  Bill  halted  to  eat  his  supper  and  warm 
his  stiffened  body.  He  tried  to  build  a  fire  but  the 
wood  was  wet  and  in  desperation  he  took,  at  last, 
the  papers  from  inside  his  thin  coat,  they  had  helped 
to  shield  him  from  the  cold,  and  utilized  them  to  start 
the  pine  cones.  He  rested  and  feasted  and  later  went 
his  way.  At  the  post  office  he  searched  among  his 
rags  for  the  letter  and  the  money.  Then  his  face 
went  white  as  ashes: 

"Gawd  a 'mighty!"  he  whimpered. 

"What's  wrong?"  Merrivale  came  from  behind 
the  counter. 

"I  done  burn  my  chest  protector.  I'll  freeze 
without  the  papers."  Then  Bill  explained  the  fire 
building  but,  recalling  Lois  Ann,  withheld  any 
further  information. 

"Here,  you  fool,"  Merrivale  said  not  unkindly, 
"take  all  the  papers  you  want.  And  take  this 
old  coat,  too.  And  look,  lad,  in  yo'  wandering  have 
yo'  seen  Greyson's  HI'  gal?' 

Bill  looked  cunning  and  drawing  close  whispered: 

"Her — and  him,  I  seed  'im,  back  in  the  sticks! 
Her — and  him!"  Then  he  laughed  his  foolish  laugh. 

"I  thought  as  much!"  Merrivale  nodded,  with 
the  trouble  a  good  man  knows  at  times  in  his  eyes; 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  197 

but  his  faith  in  Burke  coming  to  his  aid.  "You 
mean — Lawson?"  he  asked. 

Bill  nodded  foolishly. 

"Then  keep  yo'  mouth  shut!"  warned  Merrivale. 
"If  I  hear  yo'  gabbing — I'll  flax  the  hide  o'  yo',  sure 
as  I  keep  store." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  MONTH,  then  two,  passed  in  the  desolate 
cabin  in  the  Hollow.  Winter  clutched  and 
held  Pine  Cone  Settlement  in  a  deadly  grip. 
Old  people  died  and  little  children  were  born.  Lois 
Ann,  when  it  was  physically  possible,  got  to  the 
homes  of  suffering  and  eased  the  women,  while  she 
berated  the  men  for  bringing  poor  souls  to  such 
dread  passes.  But  always  Nella-Rose  hid  and 
shrank  from  sight.  No  need,  now,  to  warn  her.  A 
new  and  terrible  look  had  come  into  her  eyes,  and 
when  Lois  Ann  saw  that  creeping  terror  she  knew 
that  her  hour  had  come.  To  save  Nella-Rose,  she 
believed,  she  must  lay  low  every  illusion  and,  with 
keen  and  deliberate  force,  she  pressed  the  apple  of 
the  knowledge  of  life  between  the  girlish  lips.  The 
bitter  truth  at  last  ate  its  way  into  the  girl's  soul 
and  gradually  hate,  such  as  she  had  never  conceived, 
grew  and  consumed  her. 

"  She  will  not  die, "  thought  the  old  woman  watch- 
ing her  day  by  day. 

And  Nella-Rose  did  not  die,  at  least  not  outwardly, 
but  in  her,  as  in  Truedale,  the  fine,  first  glow  of  pure 
faith  and  passion,  untouched  by  the  world's  interpre- 
tation, faded  and  shrivelled  forever. 

198 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  199 

The  long  winter  hid  the  secret  in  the  dreary  cabin. 
The  roads  and  trails  were  closed;  none  drew  near 
for  shelter  or  succour. 

By  springtime  Nella-Rose  was  afraid  of  every  liv- 
ing creature  except  the  faithful  soul  who  stood  guard 
over  her.  She  ran  and  trembled  at  the  least  sound; 
she  was  white  and  hollow-eyed,  but  her  hate  was 
stronger  and  fiercer  than  ever. 

Early  summer  came — the  gladdest  time  of  the 
year.  The  heat  was  broken  by  soft  showers;  the 
flowers  bloomed  riotously,  and  in  July  the  world-old 
miracle  occurred  in  Lois  Ann's  cabin — Nella-Rose's 
child  was  born!  With  its  coming  the  past  seemed 
blotted  out;  hate  gave  place  to  reverent  awe  and 
tenderness.  In  the  young  mother  the  woman  rose 
supreme  and  she  would  not  permit  her  mind  to  hold 
a  harmful  thought. 

Through  the  hours  of  her  travail,  when  Lois  Ann, 
desperate  and  frightened,  had  implored,  threatened, 
and  commanded  that  she  should  tell  the  name  of  the 
father  of  her  child,  she  only  moaned  and  closed  her 
lips  the  firmer.  But  when  she  looked  upon  her  baby 
she  smiled  radiantly  and  whispered  to  the  patient 
old  creature  beside  her: 

"Miss  Lois  Ann,  this  HI'  child  has  no  father.  It  is 
my  baby  and  God  sent  it.  I  shall  call  her  Ann — cuz 
you've  been  right  good  to  me — you  sholy  have." 

So  it  was  "  hT  Ann  "  and,  since  the  strange  reticence 
and  misunderstood  joyousness  remained,  Lois  Ann, 


200  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

at  her  wit's  end,  believing  that  death  or  insanity 
threatened,  went  secretly  to  the  Greyson  house  to 
confess  and  get  assistance. 

Peter  was  away  with  Jed.  The  two  hung  together 
now  like  burrs.  Whatever  of  relaxation  Martin 
could  hope  for  lay  in  Greyson;  whatever  of  material 
comfort  Peter  could  command,  must  come  through 
Jed,  and  so  they  laboured,  in  slow,  primitive  fashion, 
and  edged  in  a  little  pleasure  together.  Marg, 
having  achieved  her  ambition,  was  content  and,  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life,  easy  to  get  along  with. 
And  into  this  comparative  Eden  Lois  Ann  came  with 
words  that  shattered  the  peace  and  calm. 

In  Marg's  private  thought  she  had  never  doubted 
that  her  sister  had  often  been  with  Burke  Lawson 
in  the  Hollow.  When  he  disappeared,  she  believed 
Nella-Rose  was  with  him,  but  she  had  supported  and 
embellished  her  father's  story  concerning  them  be- 
cause it  secured  her  own  self-respect  and  covered  the 
tracks  of  the  degenerate  pair  with  a  shield  that  they 
in  no  wise  deserved,  but  which  put  their  defenders 
in  a  truly  Christian  attitude. 

Marg  was  alone  in  the  cabin  when  Lois  Ann  en- 
tered. She  looked  up  flushed  and  eager. 

"How-de,"  she  said  genially.  "Set  and  have  a 
bite." 

"I  ain't  got  no  time,"  the  old  woman  returned 
pantingly.  "Nella-Rose  is  down  to  my  place." 

The  warm,  sunny  room  grew  stifling  to  Marg. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  201 

"What  a-doing?"  she  said,  half  under  her  breath. 

"She's  got  a — HI'  baby." 

The  colour  faded  from  Marg's  face,  leaving  it 
pasty  and  heavy. 

"Burke— thar?" 

"He  ain't  been  thar  all  winter.  I  hid  Nella-Rose 
and  her  shame  but  I  dare  not  any  longer.  I  reckon 
she's  going  off." 

"Dying?" 

"May  be;  or —  "  and  here  Lois  Ann  tapped  her 
head. 

"And  he — he  went  and  left  her?"  groaned  Marg — 
"the  devil!" 

Lois  Ann  watched  the  terrible  anger  rising  in  the 
younger  woman  and  of  a  sudden  she  realized  how 
useless  it  would  be  to  voice  the  wild  tale  Nella-Rose 
held  to.  So  she  only  nodded. 

"I'll  come  with  you,"  Marg  decided  at  once,  "and 
don't  you  let  on  to  father  or  Jed — they'd  do  some 
killing  this  time,  sure!" 

Together  the  two  made  their  way  to  the  Hollow 
and  found  Nella-Rose  in  the  quiet  room  with  her 
baby  nestling  against  her  tender  breast.  The  look 
on  her  face  might  well  stay  the  reproaches  on  Marg's 
lips — she  almost  reeled  back  as  the  deep,  true  eyes 
met  hers.  All  the  smothered  sisterliness  came  to  the 
surface  for  an  instant  as  she  trembled  and  drew  near 
to  the  two  in  the  old  chintz-covered  rocker. 

"See!  my  baby,  Marg.     She  is  lil'  Ann." 


202  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"Ann — what?"  whispered  Marg. 

"Just  HI'  Ann  for — Miss  Lois  Ann." 

"Nella-Rose"  (and  now  Marg  fell  on  her  knees 
beside  her  sister),  "tell  me  where  he  is.  Tell  me 
and  as  sure  as  God  lives  I'll  bring  him  back!  I'll 
make  him  own  you  and — and  the  baby  or  he'll — 
he'll- 

And  then  Nella-Rose  laughed  the  laugh  that  drove 
Lois  Ann  to  distraction. 

"Send  Marg  away,  Miss  Lois  Ann,"  Nella-Rose 
turned  to  her  only  friend,  "she  makes  me  so — so 
tired  and — I  do  not  want  any  one  but  you. " 

Marg  got  upon  her  feet,  all  the  tenderness  and 
compassion  gone. 

"You  are —  '  she  began,  but  Lois  Ann  was 
between  her  and  Nella-Rose. 

"Go!"  she  commanded  with  terrible  scorn.  "Go! 
You  are  not  fit  to  touch  them.  Go!  Dying  or  mad 
— the  girl  belongs  to  me  and  not  to  such  as  has  viper 
blood  in  their  veins.  Go!"  And  Marg  went  with 
the  sound  of  Nella-Rose's  crooning  to  her  child 
ringing  in  her  ears. 

Things  happened  dramatically  after  that  in  the 
deep  woods.  Marg  kept  the  secret  of  the  Hollow 
cabin  in  her  seething  heart.  She  was  frightened, 
fearing  her  father  or  Jed  might  discover  Nella-Rose. 
But  she  was,  at  times,  filled  with  a  strange  longing  to 
see  her  sister  and  touch  that  wonderful  thing  that 
lay  on  the  guilty  mother-breast. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  203 

Was  Nella-Rose  forever  to  have  the  glory  even 
in  her  shame,  while  she,  Marg,  with  all  the  rights  of 
womanhood,  could  hold  no  hope  of  maternity? 

For  one  reason  or  another  Marg  often  stole  to  the 
woods  as  near  the  Hollow  as  she  dared  to  go.  She 
hoped  for  news  but  none  came;  and  it  was  late 
August  when,  one  sunny  noon,  she  confronted  Burke 
Lawson ! 

Lawson's  face  was  strange  and  awful  to  look  on. 
Marg  drew  away  from  him  in  fear.  She  could  not 
know  but  Burke  had  had  a  terrific  experience  that 
day  and  he  was  on  the  path  for  revenge  and  any  one 
in  his  way  must  suffer.  Freed  at  last  from  his 
captivity,  he  had  travelled  across  the  range  and 
straight  to  Jim  White.  And  the  sheriff,  ready  for 
the  recreant,  greeted  him  without  mercy,  judging  him 
guilty  until  he  proved  himself  otherwise. 

"What  you  done  with  Nella-Rose?"  he  asked, 
standing  before  Burke  with  slow  fire  in  his  deep  eyes. 

Lawson  could  never  have  been  the  man  he  was 
if  he  were  not  capable  of  holding  his  own  council 
and  warding  off  attack. 

"What  makes  you  think  I've  done  anything  with 
her?"  he  asked. 

"None  o'  that,  Burke  Lawson,"  Jim  warned. 
"I've  been  yo'  friend,  but  I  swear  I'll  toss  yo'  ter 
the  dogs,  as  is  after  you,  with  as  little  feelin'  as  I 
would  if  yo'  were  a  chunk  o'  dead  meat — if  you've 
harmed  that  HI'  gal." 


204  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"Well,  I  ain't  harmed  her,  Jim.  And  now  let's 
set  down  and  talk  it  over.  I  want  to — to  bring 
her  home;  I  want  ter  live  a  decent  life  'mong  yo'-all. 
Jim,  don't  shoot  'til  yo*  make  sure  yo'  ought  ter 
shoot.'1 

Thus  brought  to  reason  Jim  sat  down,  shared 
his  meal  with  his  reinstated  friend,  and  gave  him  the 
gossip  of  the  hills.  Lawson  ate  because  he  was  well- 
nigh  starved  and  he  knew  he  had  some  rough  work 
ahead;  he  listened  because  he  needed  all  the  guiding 
possible  and  he  shielded  the  name  and  reputation  of 
Nella-Rose  with  the  splendid  courage  that  filled  his 
young  heart  and  mind.  And  then  he  set  forth  upon 
his  quest  with  these  words: 

"As  Gawd  A'mighty  hears  me,  Jim  White,  I'll 
fetch  that  HI'  Nella-Rose  home  and  live  like  a  man 
from  now  on.  Wipe  off  my  sins,  Jim;  make  a  place 
for  me,  old  man,  and  I'll  never  shame  it — or  God 
blast  me!" 

White  took  the  strong  young  hand  and  felt  his 
eyes  grow  misty. 

"Yo'  place  is  here,  Burke,"  he  said,  and  then 
Lawson  was  on  his  way. 

A  half  hour  later  he  encountered  Marg.  In  his 
own  mind  Burke  had  a  pretty  clear  idea  of  what  had 
occurred.  Not  having  heard  any  suggestion  of 
Truedale,  he  was  as  ignorant  of  him  as  though  True- 
dale  had  never  existed.  Jed,  then,  was  the  only  man 
to  hold  guilty.  Jed  had,  in  passion  and  revenge, 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  205 

wronged  Nella-Rose  and  had  after,  like  the  sneak 
and  coward  he  was,  sought  to  secure  his  own  safety 
by  marrying  Marg.  But  what  had  they  done  with 
Nella-Rose?  She  had,  according  to  White,  dis- 
appeared the  night  that  Jed  had  been  tied  in  the 
cave.  Well,  Jed  must  confess  and  pay! — pay  to 
the  uttermost.  But  between  him  and  Jed  Marg 
now  stood! 

"You!"  cried  Marg.  "You!  What  yo'  mean 
coming  brazen  to  us-all?" 

"Get  out  of  my  way!"  commanded  Burke, 
"Where's  Jed?" 

"What's  that  to  you?" 

"You'll  find  out  soon  enough.     Let  me  by." 

But  Marg  held  her  ground  and  Lawson  waited. 
The  look  in  his  eyes  awed  Marg,  but  his  presence 
enraged  her. 

"What  you-all  done  with  Nella-Rose?"  Lawson 
asked. 

"You  better  find  out !    You've  left  it  long  enough." 

"Whar  is  she,  I  say?  And  I  tell  you  now,  Marg 
— every  one  as  has  wronged  that  HP  girl  will  answer 
to  me.  Whar  is  she?" 

"She — she  and  her  young-un  are  up  to  Lois  Ann's. 
They've  been  hid  all  winter.  No  one  but  me  knows; 
you've  time  to  make  good — before — before  father 
and  Jed  get  yo'." 

Lawson  took  this  like  a  blow  between  the  eyes. 
He  could  not  speak — for  a  moment  he  could  not 


206  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

think;  then  a  lurid  fire  of  conviction  burned  into  his 
very  soul. 

"So — that's  it!"  he  muttered,  coming  so  close  to 
Marg  that  she  shrank  back  afraid.  "So  that's 
it!  Yo'-all  have  damned  and  all  but  killed  the  po' 
lil'  girl — then  flung  her  to — to  the  devil!  You've 
taken  the  leavings — you!  'cause  yo'  couldn't  get 
anything  else.  Yo'  and  Jed  "  (here  Lawson  laughed 
a  fearless,  terrifying  laugh),  "yo'  and  Jed  is  honour- 
ably married,  you  two,  and  she — HI'  Nella-Rose — 
left  to —  Emotion  choked  Lawson;  then  he 

plunged  on:  "He — he  wronged  her — the  brute, 
and  you  took  him  to — to  save  him  and  yourself 
you—  — !  And  she? — why,  she's  the  only  holy  thing 
in  the  hills;  you  couldn't  damn  her — you  two!" 

"For  the  love  o'  Gawd!"  begged  Marg,  "keep 
yo'  tongue  still  and  off  us!  We  ain't  done  her  any 
wrong;  every  one,  even  Jed,  thinks  she  is  with  you. 
Miss  Lois  Ann  hid  her — I  only  knew  a  week  ago.  I 
ain't  told  a  soul!" 

A  look  of  contempt  grew  upon  Burke's  face  and 
hardened  there.  He  was  thinking  quick  and  desper- 
ately. In  a  vague  way  he  realized  that  he  had  the 
reins  in  his  hands;  his  only  concern  was  to  know 
whither  he  should  drive.  But,  above  and  beyond 
all — deep  true,  and  spiritual — were  his  love  and 
pity  for  Nella-Rose. 

They  had  all  betrayed  and  deserted  her.  Not 
for  an  instant  did  Lawson  doubt  that.  Their  coward- 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  207 

ice  and  duplicity  neither  surprised  nor  daunted  him; 
but  his  pride — his  sense  of  superiority — bade  him 
pause  and  reflect  before  he  plunged  ahead.  Finally 
he  said: 

"So  you-all  depend  upon  her  safety  for  your 
safety!  Take  it — and  be  damned!  She's  been  with 
me — yo'  followin'  me  ?  She's  been  with  me,  rightful 
married  and  happy — happy!  From  now  on  I'll 
manage  HI'  Nella-Rose's  doings,  and  the  first  whisper 
from  man  or  woman  agin  her  will  be  agin  me — and 
God  knows  I  won't  be  blamed  for  what  I  do  then! 
Tell  that  skunk  of  yours,"  Lawson  glared  at  the 
terrified  Marg,  "I'm  strong  enough  to  outbid  him 
with  the  devil,  but  from  now  on  him  and  you — mind 
this  well,  Marg  Greyson — him  and  you  are  to  be  our 
loving  brother  and  sister.  See?" 

With  a  wild  laugh  Burke  took  to  the  woods. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

TWO  years  and  a  half  following  William  True- 
dale's  death  found  things  much  as  the  old 
gentleman  would  have  liked.  Often  Lynda 
Kendall,  sitting  beside  the  long,  low,  empty  chair, 
longed  to  tell  her  old  friend  all  about  it.  Strange 
to  say,  the  recluse  in  life  had  become  very  vital  in 
death.  He  had  wrought,  in  his  silent,  lonely  detach- 
ment, better  even  than  he  knew.  His  charities, 
shorn  of  the  degrading  elements  of  many  simiJar 
ones,  were  carried  on  without  a  hitch.  Dr.  Mc- 
Pherson,  under  his  crust  of  hardness,  was  an  idealist 
and  almost  a  sentimentalist;  but  above  all  he  was  a 
man  to  inspire  respect  and  command  obedience. 
No  hospital  with  which  he  had  to  deal  was  unmarked 
by  his  personality.  Neglect  and  indifference  were 
fatal  attributes  for  internes  and  nurses. 

"Give  the  youngsters  sleep  enough,  food  and 
relaxation  enough,"  he  would  say  to  the  super- 
intendents, "but  after  that  expect — and  get — faith- 
ful, conscientious  service  with  as  much  humanity 
as  possible  thrown  in." 

The  sanatorium  for  cases  such  as  William  True- 
dale's  was  already  attracting  wide  attention.  The 
finest  men  to  be  obtained  were  on  the  staff;  specially 

208 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  209 

trained  nurses  were  selected;  and  Lynda  had  put 
her  best  thought  and  energy  into  the  furnishing  of 
the  small  rooms  and  spacious  wards. 

Conning,  becoming  used  to  the  demands  made 
upon  him,  was  at  last  dependable,  and  grew  to  see, 
in  each  sufferer  the  representative  of  the  uncle 
he  had  never  understood;  whom  he  had  neglected 
and,  too  late,  had  learned  to  respect.  He  was  almost 
ashamed  to  confess  how  deeply  interested  he  was  in 
the  sanatorium.  Recalling  at  times  the  loneliness 
and  weariness  of  William  Truedale's  days — pictur- 
ing the  sad  night  when  he  had,  as  Lynda  put  it, 
opened  the  door  himself,  to  release  and  hope — • 
Conning  sought  to  ease  the  way  for  others  and  so 
fill  the  waiting  hours  that  less  opportunity  was 
left  for  melancholy  thought.  He  introduced  amuse- 
ments and  pastimes  in  the  hospital,  often  shared 
them  himself,  and  still  attended  to  the  other  business 
that  William  Truedale's  affairs  involved. 

The  men  who  had  been  appointed  to  direct  and 
control  these  interests  eventually  let  the  reins  fall 
into  the  hands  eager  to  grasp  them  and,  in  the  end- 
less labour  and  sense  of  usefulness,  Conning  learned 
to  know  content  and  comparative  peace.  He  grew 
to  look  upon  his  present  life  as  a  kind  of  belated  rep- 
aration. He  was  not  depressed;  with  surprising 
adaptability  he  accepted  what  was  inevitable  and, 
while  reserving,  in  the  personal  sense,  his  past  for 
private  hours,  he  managed  to  construct  a  philosophy 


210  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

and  cheerfulness  that  carried  him  well  on  the  tide  of 
events. 

It  was  something  of  a  shock  to  him  one  evening, 
nearly  three  years  after  his  visit  to  Pine  Cone,  to 
find  himself  looking  at  Lynda  Kendall  as  if  he  had 
never  seen  her  before. 

She  was  going  out  with  Brace  and  was  in  evening 
dress.  Truedale  had  never  seen  her  gowned  so, 
and  he  realized  that  she  was  extremely  handsome 
and — something  more.  She  came  close  to  him, 
drawing  on  her  long,  loose,  white  gloves. 

"I  cannot  bear  to  go  and  leave  you — all  alone!" 
she  said,  raising  her  eyes  to  his. 

"  You  see,  John  Morrell  is  showing  us  his  brand-new 
wife  to-night — and  I  couldn't  resist;  but  I'll  try  to 
break  away  early." 

"You  are  eager  to  see — Mrs.  Morrell?"  Truedale 
asked,  and  suddenly  recalled  the  relation  Lynda  had 
once  held  to  Morrell.  He  had  not  thought  of  it 
for  many  a  day. 

"Very.  You  see  I  hope  to  be  great  friends  with 
her.  I  want — 

"What,  Lynda?" 

"Well,  to  help  her  understand — John." 

"Let  me  button  your  glove,  Lyn" — for  Truedale 
saw  her  hands  were  trembling  though  her  eyes  were 
peaceful  and  happy.  And  then  as  the  long,  slim 
hand  rested  in  his,  he  asked: 

"And  you — have  never  regretted,  Lyn?" 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST  211 

"Regretted?  Does  a  woman  regret  when  she's 
saved  from  a  mistake  and  gets  off  scot-free  as  well?" 

They  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment  and  then 
Lynda  drew  away  her  hand. 

"Thanks,  Con,  and  please  miss  us  a  little,  but  not 
too  much.  What  will  you  do  to  pass  the  time  until 
we  return?" 

"I  think"-— Truedale  pulled  himself  up  sharply — 
"I  think  I'll  go  up  under  the  eaves  and  get  out — the 
old  play!" 

"Oh!  how  splendid!  And  you  will — let  me  hear 
it — some  day,  soon?" 

"Yes.  Business  is  going  easier  now.  I  can  think 
of  it  without  neglecting  better  things.  Good-night, 
Lyn.  Tuck  your  coat  up  close,  the  night's  bad." 

And  then,  alone  in  the  warm,  bright  room,  True- 
dale  had  a  distinct  sense  of  Lynda  having  taken 
something  besides  herself  away.  She  had  left  the 
room  hideously  lonely;  it  became  unbearable  to  re- 
main there  and,  like  a  boy,  Conning  ran  up  to  the 
small  room  next  the  roof. 

He  took  the  old  play  out — he  had  not  unpacked 
it  since  he  came  from  Pine  Cone!  He  laid  it  before 
him  and  presently  became  absorbed  in  reading  it 
from  the  beginning.  It  was  after  eleven  when  he 
raised  his  tired  eyes  from  the  pages  and  leaned  back 
in  his  chair. 

"I'm  like — all  men!"  he  muttered.  "All  men — 
and  I  thought  things  had  gone  deeper  with  me." 


212  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

What  he  was  recognizing  was  that  the  play  and 
the  subtle  influence  that  Nella-Rose  had  had  upon 
him  had  both  lost  their  terrific  hold.  He  could 
contemplate  the  past  without  the  sickening  sense  of 
wrong  and  shock  that  had  once  overpowered  him. 
Realizing  the  full  meaning  of  all  that  had  gone  into 
his  past  experience,  he  found  himself  thinking  of 
Lynda  as  she  h,ad  looked  a  few  hours  before.  He 
resented  the  lesser  hold  the  past  still  had  upon  him 
— he  wanted  to  shake  it  free.  Not  bitterly — not 
with  contempt — but,  he  argued,  why  should  his  life 
be  shadowed  always  by  a  mistake,  cruel  and  un- 
pardonable as  it  was,  when  she,  that  little  ignorant 
partner  in  the  wrong,  had  gone  her  way  and  had 
doubtless  by  now  put  him  forever  from  her  mind  ? 

How  small  a  part  it  had  played  with  her,  poor  child. 
She  had  been  betrayed  by  her  strange  imagination 
and  suddenly  awakened  passion;  she  had  followed 
blindly  where  he  had  led,  but  when  catastrophe  had 
threatened  one  who  had  been  part  of  her  former  life — 
familiar  with  all  that  was  real  to  her — how  readily  the 
untamed  instinct  had  reverted  to  its  own! 

And  he — Truedale  comforted  himself — he  had 
come  back  to  his  own,  and  his  own  had  made  its 
claim  upon  him.  Why  should  he  not  have  his  second 
chance  ?  He  wanted  love — not  friendship ;  he  wanted 
— Lynda!  All  else  faded  and  Lynda,  the  new  Lynda 
—Lynda  with  the  hair  that  had  learned  to  curl,  the 
girl  with  the  pretty  white  shoulders  and  sweet,  kind 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  213 

eyes — stood  pleadingly  close  in  the  shabby  old  room 
and  demanded  recognition.  "She  thinks,"  and 
here  Truedale  covered  his  eyes,  "that  I  am — as  I 
was  when  I  began  my  life — here!  What  would  she 
say — if  she  knew?  She,  God  bless  her,  is  not  like 
others.  Faithful,  pure,  she  could  not  forgive  the 
truth  !  " 

Truedale,  thinking  so  of  Lynda  Kendall,  owned 
to  his  best  self  that  because  the  woman  who  now 
filled  his  life  held  to  her  high  ideals — would  never 
lower  them — he  could  honour  and  reverence  her. 
If  she,  like  him,  could  change,  and  accept  selfishly 
that  which  she  would  scorn  in  another,  she  would 
not  be  the  splendid  creature  she  was.  And  yet- 
without  conceit  or  vanity — Truedale  believed  that 
Lynda  felt  for  him  what  he  felt  for  her. 

Never  doubting  that  he  could  bring  to  her  an 
unsullied  past,  she  was,  delicately,  in  finest  woman- 
fashion,  laying  her  heart  open  to  him.  She  knew 
that  he  had  little  to  offer  and  yet — and  yet — she  was 
—willing!  Truedale  knew  this  to  be  true.  And 
then  he  decided  he  must,  even  at  this  late  day,  tell 
Lynda  of  the  past.  For  her  sake  he  dare  not  ven- 
ture any  further  concealment.  Once  she  understood 
—once  she  recovered  from  her  surprise  and  shock — • 
she  would  be  his  friend,  he  felt  confident  of  that; 
but  she  would  be  spared  any  deeper  personal  interest. 
It  was  Lynda's  magnificent  steadfastness  that  now 
appealed  to  Truedale.  With  the  passing  of  his  own 


2i4  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

season  of  madness,  he  looked  upon  this  calm  serenity 
of  her  character  with  deepest  admiration. 

"The  best  any  man  should  hope  for,"  he  admitted 
— turning,  as  he  thought,  his  back  upon  his  yearning 
— "any  man  who  has  played  the  fool  as  I  have,  is 
the  sympathetic  friendship  of  a  good  woman.  What 
right  has  a  man  to  fall  from  what  he  knows  a  woman 
holds  highest,  and  then  look  to  her  to  change  her 
ideals  to  fit  his  pattern?" 

Arriving  at  this  conclusion,  Truedale  wrapped  the 
tattered  shreds  of  his  self-respect  about  him  and 
accepted,  as  best  he  could,  the  prospect  of  Lynda's 
adjustment  to  the  future. 

Brace  and  Lynda  did  not  return  in  time  to  see 
Truedale  that  night.  At  twelve,  with  a  resigned 
sigh,  he  put  away  his  play  and  went  to  his  lonely 
rooms  in  the  tall  apartment  farther  uptown.  His  dog 
was  waiting  for  him  with  the  reproachful  look  in  his 
faithful  eyes  that  reminded  Truedale  that  the  poor 
beast  had  not  had  an  outing  for  twenty-four  hours. 

"Come  on,  old  fellow,"  he  said,  "better  late  than 
never,"  and  the  two  descended  to  the  street.  They 
walked  sedately  for  an  hour.  The  dog  longed  to 
gambol;  he  was  young  enough  to  associate  outdoors 
with  license;  but  being  a  friend  as  well  as  a  dog,  he 
felt  that  this  was  rather  a  time  for  close  comradeship, 
so  he  pattered  along  at  his  master's  heels  and  once  in 
a  while  pushed  his  cold  nose  into  the  limp  hand 
swinging  by  Truedale's  side.  "Thank  God!"  Con- 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  215 

ning  thought,  reaching  down  to  pat  the  sleek  head, 
"I  can  keep  you  without — confession!" 

For  three  days  and  nights  Truedale  stayed  away 
from  the  old  home.  Business  was  his  excuse — he 
offered  it  in  the  form  of  a  note  and  a  bunch  of  violets. 
Lynda  telephoned  on  the  second  day  and  asked  him 
if  he  were  quite  well.  The  tqne  of  her  voice  made 
him  decide  to  see  her  at  once. 

"May  I  come  to  dinner  to-night,  Lyn?"  he  asked. 

"Sorry,  Con,  but  I  must  dine  with  some  people 
who  have  bought  a  hideous  house  and  want  me  to 
get  them  out  of  the  scrape  by  remodelling  the  inside. 
They're  awfully  rich  and  impossible — it's  a  sort  of 
duty  to  the  public,  you  know." 

"To-morrow  then,  Lyn?" 

"Yes,  indeed.  Only  Brace  will  be  dining  with 
the  Morrells;  by  the  way,  she's  a  dear,  Con." 

The  next  night  was  terrifically  stormy — one  of 
those  spring  storms  that  sweep  everything  before 
them.  The  bubbles  danced  on  the  pavements,  the 
gutters  ran  floods,  and  fragments  of  umbrellas  and 
garments  floated  incongruously  on  the  tide. 

Battling  against  the  wind,  Conning  made  his 
way  to  Lynda's.  As  he  drew  near  the  house  the 
glow  from  the  windows  seemed  to  meet  and  touch 
him  with  welcome. 

"I'll  economize  somewhere,"  Lynda  often  said, 
"but  when  darkness  comes  I'm  always  going  to  do 
my  best  to  get  the  better  of  it." 


2i6  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

Just  for  one  blank  moment  Truedale  had  a  sicken- 
ing thought:  "Suppose  that  welcome  was  never 
again  for  him,  after  this  night?"  Then  he  laughed 
derisively.  Lynda  might  have  her  ideals,  her  eternal 
reservations,  but  she  also  had  her  superb  faithfulness. 
After  she  knew  ally  she  would  still  be  his  friend. 

When  he  went  into  the  library  Lynda  sat  before  the 
fire  knitting  a  long  strip  of  vivid  wools.  Conning  had 
never  seen  her  so  employed  and  it  had  the  effect  of 
puzzling  him;  it  was  like  seeing  her — well,  smoking, 
as  some  of  her  friends  did !  Nothing  wrong  in  it— 
but,  inharmonious. 

"What  are  you  making,  Lyn?"  he  asked,  taking 
the  ottoman  and  drawing  close  to  her. 

''It — it  isn't  anything,  Con.  No  one  wants  trash 
like  this.  It  fulfils  its  mission  when  it  is  ravelled 
and  knitted,  then  unravelled.  You  know  what 
Stevenson  says:  'I  travel  for  travel's  sake;  the  great 
affair  is  to  move.'  I  knit  for  knitting's  sake;  it  keeps 
my  hands  busy  while  my — my  soul  basks." 

She  looked  up  with  a  smile  and  Truedale  saw  that 
she  was  ill  at  ease.  It  was  the  one  thing  that  un- 
nerved him.  Had  she  been  her  old,  self-contained 
self  he  could  have  depended  upon  her  to  bear  her 
part  while  he  eased  his  soul  by  burdening  hers; 
but  now  he  caught  in  her  the  appealing  tenderness 
that  had  always  awakened  in  old  William  Truedale 
the  effort  to  save  her  from  herself — from  the  cares 
others  laid  upon  her. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  217 

Conning,  instead  of  plunging  into  his  confession, 
looked  at  her  in  such  a  protecting,  yearning  way  that 
Lynda's  eyes  fell,  and  the  soft  colour  slowly  crept 
in  her  cheeks. 

In  the  stillness,  that  neither  knew  how  to  break, 
Truedale  noticed  the  gown  Lynda  wore.  It  was 
blue  and  clinging.  The  whiteness  of  her  slim  arms 
showed  through  the  loose  sleeves;  the  round  throat 
was  bare  and  girlish  in  its  drooping  curve. 

For  one  mad  moment  Truedale  tried  to  stifle 
his  conscience.  Why  should  he  not  have  this  love 
and  happiness  that  lay  close  to  him  ?  In  what  was  he 
different  from  the  majority  of  men  ?  Then  he  thought 
— as  others  before  him  had  thought — that,  since 
the  race  must  be  preserved,  the  primal  impulses  should 
not  be  denied.  They  outlived  everything;  they 
rallied  from  shock — even  death;  they  persisted  until 
extinction;  and  here  was  this  sweet  woman  with  all 
her  gracious  loveliness  near  him.  He  loved  her! 
Yes,  strange  as  it  seemed  even  then  to  him,  Truedale 
acknowledged  that  he  loved  her  with  the  love,  unlike 
yet  like  the  love  that  had  been  too  rudely  awakened 
in  the  lonely  woods  when  he  had  been  still  incapable 
of  understanding  it. 

Then  the  storm  outside  reached  his  consciousness 
and  awakened  memories  that  hurt  and  stung  him. 

No.  He  was  not  as  many  men  who  could  take 
and  take  and  find  excuse.  The  very  sincerity  of  the 
past  and  future  must  prove  itself,  now,  in  this 


218  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

throbbing,  vital  present.  Only  so  could  he  justify 
himself  and  his  belief  in  goodness.  He  must  open 
his  heart  and  soul  to  the  woman  beside  him.  There 
was  no  other  alternative. 

But  first  they  dined  together  across  the  hall. 
Truedale  noted  every  special  dish — the  meal  was 
composed  of  his  favourite  viands.  The  intimacy 
of  sitting  opposite  Lynda,  the  smiling  pleasure  of 
old  Thomas  who  served  them,  combined  to  lure 
him  again  from  his  stern  sense  of  duty. 

Why?  Why?  his  yearning  pleaded.  Why  should 
he  destroy  his  own  future  happiness  and  that  of 
this  sweet,  innocent  woman  for  a  whim — that  was 
what  he  tried  to  term  it — of  conscience?  Why, 
there  were  men,  thousands  of  them,  who  would  call 
him  by  a  harsher  name  than  he  cared  to  own,  if  he 
followed  such  a  course;  and  yet — then  Truedale 
looked  across  at  Lynda. 

"A  woman  should  have  clear  vision  and  choice," 
his  reason  commanded,  and  to  this  his  love  agreed. 

But  alone  with  Lynda,  in  the  library  later,  the 
conflict  was  renewed.  Never  had  she  been  so  sweet, 
so  kind.  The  storm  beat  against  the  house  and 
instead  of  interfering,  seemed  to  hold  them  close 
and — together.  It  no  longer  aroused  in  Truedale 
recollections  that  smarted.  It  was  like  an  old  famil- 
iar guide  leading  his  thought  into  ways  sacred  and 
happy.  Then  suddenly,  out  of  a  consciousness  that 
knew  neither  doubt  nor  fear,  he  said: 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  219 

"You  and  I,  Lyn,  were  never  afraid  of  truth, 
were  we?" 

"Never." 

She  was  knitting  again — knitting  feverishly  and 
desperately. 

"Lyn — I  want  to  tell  you — all  about  it!  About 
something  you  must  know." 

Very  quietly  now,  Lynda  rolled  her  work  to- 
gether and  tossed  it,  needles  and  all,  upon  the  glow- 
ing logs.  She  was  done,  forever,  with  subterfuge 
and  she  knew  it.  The  wool  curled,  blackened,  and 
gave  forth  a  scorched  smell  before  the  red  coals  sub- 
dued it.  Then,  with  a  straight,  uplifted  look: 

"I'm  ready,  Con." 

"Just  before  I  broke  down  and  went  away,  Brace 
once  told  me  that  my  life  had  no  background,  no 
colour.  Lynda,  it  is  of  that  background  about  which 
you  do  not  know,  that  I  want  to  speak."  He  waited 
a  moment,  then  went  on: 

"I  went  away — to  the  loneliest,  the  most  beautiful 
place  I  had  ever  seen.  For  a  time  there  seemed  to 
be  nobody  in  the  world  but  the  man  with  whom  I 
lived  and  me.  He  liked  and  trusted  me — I  betrayed 
his  trust!" 

Lynda  caught  her  breath  and  gave  a  little  ex- 
clamation of  dissent,  wonder. 

"You — betrayed  him,  Con!  I  cannot  believe 
that.  Go  on." 

"Yes.     I    betrayed   his   trust.     He   left   me   and 


220  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

went  into  the  deep  woods  to  hunt.  He  put  every- 
thing in  my  care — everything.  He  was  gone  nearly 
three  weeks.  No  one  knew  of  my  existence.  They 
are  like  that  down  there.  If  you  are  an  outsider 
you  do  not  matter.  I  had  arrived  at  dark;  I  was 
sent  for  a  certain  purpose;  that  was  all  that  mat- 
tered. I  began  and  ended  with  the  man  who  was 
my  host  and  who  had  been  told  to — to  keep  me 
secret."  Truedale  was  gripping  the  arms  of  his 
chair  and  his  words  came  punctuated  by  sharp  pauses. 

"And  then,  into  that  solitude,,  came  a  young 
girl.  Remember,  she  did  not  know  of  my  existence. 
We — discovered  each  other  like  creatures  in  a  new 
world.  There  are  no  words  to  describe  her — I 
cannot  even  attempt  it,  Lynda.  I  ruined  her  life. 
That's  all!" 

The  bald,  crushing  truth  was  out.  For  a  moment 
the  man  Lynda  Kendall  knew  and  loved  seemed 
hiding  behind  this  monster  the  confession  had  called 
forth.  A  lesser  woman  would  have  shrunk  in  af- 
fright, but  not  Lynda. 

"No.  That  is  not  all,"  she  whispered  hoarsely, 
putting  her  hands  out  as  though  pushing  something 
tangible  aside  until  she  could  reach  Conning.  "I 
demand  the  rest." 

"What  matters  it?"  Truedale  spoke  bitterly. 
"If  I  tell  how  and  why,  can  that  alter  the — fact? 
Oh!  I  have  had  my  hours  of  explaining  and  justi- 
fying and  glossing  over;  but  I've  come  at  last  to  the 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  221 

point  where  I  see  myself  as  I  am  and  I  shall  never 
argue  the  thing  again." 

"Con,  you  have  shown  me  the  man  as  man  might 
see  him;  I  must — I  must  have  him  as  a  woman — 
as  his  God — must  see  him!" 

"And  you  think  it  possible  for  me  to  grant  this? 
You — you,  Lynda,  would  you  have  me  put  up  a 
defense  for  what  I  did  ? " 

"No.  But  I  would  have  you  throw  all  the 
light  upon  it  that  you  can.  I  want  to  see — for 
myself.  I  will  not  accept  the  hideous  skeleton  you 
have  hung  before  me.  Con,  I  have  never  really 
known  but  five  men  in  my  life;  but  women — 
women  have  lain  heart  deep  along  my  way  ever 
since — I  learned  to  know  my  mother!  Not  only 
for  yourself,  but  for  that  girl  who  drifted  into  your 
solitude,  I  demand  light — all  that  you  can  give 
me!" 

And  now  Truedale  breathed  hard  and  the  muscles 
of  his  face  twitched.  He  was  about  to  lay  bare 
the  inscrutable,  the  holy  thing  of  his  life,  fearing  that 
even  the  woman  near  him  could  not  be  just.  He  had 
accepted  his  own  fate,  so  he  thought;  he  meant  not 
to  whine  or  complain,  but  how  was  he  to  live  his 
life  if  Lynda  failed  to  agree  with  him — where  Nella- 
Rose  was  concerned  ? 

"Will  you — can  you — do  what  I  ask,  Con?" 

"Yes — in  a  minute." 

"You — loved  her?    She  loved  you — Con?"    Lynda 


222  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

strove  to  smooth  the  way,  not  so  much  for  Trued  ale 
as  for  herself. 

"Yes!  I  found  her  in  my  cabin  one  day  when 
I  returned  from  a  long  tramp.  She  had  decked  her- 
self out  in  my  bathrobe  and  the  old  fez.  Not  know- 
ing anything  about  me,  she  was  horribly  frightened 
when  I  came  upon  her.  At  first  she  seemed  nothing 
but  a  child — she  took  me  by  storm.  We  met  in 
the  woods  later.  I  read  to  her,  taught  her,  played 
with  her — I,  who  had  never  played  in  my  life  before. 
Then  suddenly  she  became  a  woman!  She  knew  no 
law  but  her  own;  she  was  full  of  courage  and  daring 
and  a  splendid  disregard  for  conventions  as — as  we 
all  know  them.  For  her,  they  simply  did  not  exist. 
I — I  was  willing  and  eager  to  cast  my  future  hopes 
of  happiness  with  hers — God  knows  I  was  sincere  in 
that! 

"Then  came  a  night  of  storm — such  as  this.  Can 
you  imagine  it  in  the  black  forests  where  small 
streams  become  rivers  in  a  moment,  carrying  all 
before  them  as  they  plunge  and  roar  down  the 
mountain  sides?  Dangers  of  all  sorts  threatened 
and,  in  the  midst  of  that  storm,  something  occurred 
that  involved  me!  I  had  sent  Nella-Rose — that  was 
her  name — away  earlier  in  the  day.  I  could  not 
trust  myself.  But  she  came  back  to  warn  me.  It 
meant  risking  everything,  for  her  people  were  abroad 
that  night  bent  on  ugly  business;  she  had  to  betray 
them  in  order  to  save  me.  To  have  turned  her 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  223 

adrift  would  have  meant  death,  or  worse.  She 
remained  with  me  nearly  a  week — she  and  I  alone  in 
that  cabin  and  cut  off  from  the  world — she  and  I! 
There  was  only  myself  to  depend  upon — and,  Lynda, 
I  failed  again!" 

"But,  Con — you  meant  to — to  marry  her;  you 
meant  that — from  the  first?"  Lynda  had  forgotten 
herself,  her  suffering.  She  was  struggling  to  save 
something  more  precious  than  her  love;  she  was 
holding  to  her  faith  in  Truedale. 

"Good  God!  yes.  It  was  the  one  thing  I  wanted 
—the  one  thing  I  planned.  In  my  madness  it  did 
not  seem  to  matter  much  except  as  a  safeguard  for 
her — but  I  had  no  other  thought  or  intention.  We 
meant  to  go  to  a  minister  as  soon  as  the  storm  re- 
leased us.  Then  came  the  telegram  about  Uncle 
William,  and  the  minister  was  killed  during  the 
storm.  Lynda,  I  wanted  to  bring  Nella-Rose  to 
you  just  as  she  was,  but  she  would  not  come.  I  left 
my  address  and  told  her  to  send  for  me  if  she  needed 
me — I  meant  to  return  as  soon  as  I  could,  anyway. 
I  would  have  left  anything  for  her.  She  never  sent 
for  me — and  the  very  day  I  left — she " 

"What,  Con?     I  must  know  all." 

"Lynda,  before  God  I  believe  something  drove 
the  child  to  it;  you  must  not — you  shall  not  judge 
her.  But  she  went,  the  very  night  I  left,  to  a  man 
—a  man  of  the  hills — who  had  loved  her  all  his  life. 
He  was  in  danger;  he  escaped,  taking  her  with  him!" 


224  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"I — I  do  not  believe  it!"  The  words  rang  out 
sharply,  defiantly.  Woman  was  in  arms  for  woman. 
The  loyalty  that  few  men  admit  confronted  True- 
dale  now.  It  seemed  to  glorify  the  darkness  about 
him.  He  had  no  further  fear  for  Nella-Rose  and  he 
bowed  his  head  before  Lynda's  blazing  eyes. 

"God  bless  you!"  he  whispered,  "but  oh!  Lyn, 
I  went  back  to  make  sure.  I  had  the  truth  from  her 
own  father.  And  with  all — she  stands  to  this  day, 
in  my  memory,  guiltless  of  the  monstrous  wrong 
she  seemed  to  commit;  and  so  she  will  always  stand. 

"Since  then,  Lynda,  I  have  lived  a  new  piece  of 
life;  the  past  lies  back  there  and  it  is  dead,  dead. 
I  would  not  have  told  you  this  but  for  one  great  and 
tremendous  thing.  You  will  not  understand  this; 
no  woman  could.  A  man  could,  but  not  a  woman. 

"As  I  once  loved — in  another  way — that  child 
of  the  hills,  I  love  you,  the  one  woman  of  my  man- 
hood's clearer  vision.  Because  of  that  love — I  had 
to  speak." 

Truedale  looked  up  and  met  the  eyes  that  searched 
his  soul. 

"I  believe  you,"  Lynda  faltered.  "I  do  not 
understand,  but  I  believe  you.  Go  away  now,  Con, 
I  want  to  think." 

He  rose  at  once  and  bent  over  her.  "God  bless 
you,  Lyn,"  was  all  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XV 

TWO  days,  then  three  passed.     Lynda  tried  to 
send  for  Truedale — tried  to  believe  that  she 
saw  clearly  at  last,  but  having  decided  that 
she  was   ready   she  was   again   lost  in   doubt   and 
plunged  into  a  new  struggle. 

She  neglected  her  work  and  grew  pale  and  listless. 
Brace  was  worried  and  bewildered.  He  had  never 
seen  his  sister  in  like  mood  and,  missing  Conning 
from  the  house,  he  drew,  finally,  his  own  conclusions. 

One  day,  it  was  nearly  a  week  after  Truedale's 
call,  Brace  came  upon  his  sister  in  the  workshop  over 
the  extension.  She  was  sitting  on  the  window-ledge 
looking  out  into  the  old  garden  where  a  magnolia 
tree  was  in  full  bloom. 

"Heigho,  boy!"  she  said,  welcoming  him  with  her 
eyes.  "I've  just  discovered  that  spring  is  here.  I've 
always  been  ready  for  it  before.  This  year  it  has 
taken  me  by  surprise." 

Brace  came  close  to  her  and  put  his  hands  on  her 
shoulders. 

"What's  the  matter,  girl?"  he  asked  in  his  quick, 
blunt  way. 

The  tears  came  to  Lynda's  eyes,  but  she  did  not 
shrink. 

225 


226  THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 

"Brother,"  she  said  slowly,  "I — I  want  to  marry 
Con  and — I  do  not  dare." 

Kendall  dropped  in  the  nearest  chair,  and  stared 
blankly  at  his  sister. 

"Would  you  mind  being  a  bit  more — well,  more 
explicit?"  he  faltered. 

"I'm  going  to  ask  you — some  questions,  dear. 
Will  you — tell  me  true?" 

"I'll  do  my  best."  Kendall  passed  his  hand 
through  his  hair;  it  seemed  to  relieve  the  tension. 

"Brace,  can  a  man  truly  love  many  times?  Per- 
haps not  many — but  twice — truly?" 

"Yes — he  can!"  Brace  asserted  boldly.  "I've 
been  in  love  a  dozen  times  myself.  I  always  put  it 
to  the  coffee-urn  test — that  settles  it." 

"Brace,  I  am  in  earnest.     Do  not  joke." 

"Joke?  Good  Lord!  I  tell  you,  Lyn,  I  am  in 
deadly  earnest — deadlier  than  you  know.  When  a  man 
puts  his  love  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  times  a  year, 
in  fancy,  behind  his  coffee-urn,  he  gets  his  bearings." 

"You've  never  grown  up,  Brace,  and  I  feel  as  old 
— as  old  as  both  your  grandmothers.  I  do  not 
mean — puppy-love;  I  mean  the  love  that  cuts  deep 
in  a  man's  soul.  Can  it  cut  twice  ?" 

"If  it  couldn't,  it  would  be  good-bye  to  the  future 
of  the  race!"  And  now  Kendall  had  the  world's 
weary  knowledge  in  his  eyes. 

"A  woman — cannot  understand  that,  Lyn.  She 
must  trust  if  she  loves." 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  227 

"Yes."  The  universal  language  of  men  struck 
Lynda  like  a  strange  tongue.  Had  she  been  living 
all  her  life,  she  wondered,  like  a  foreigner — under- 
standing merely  by  signs?  And  now  that  she  was 
close — was  confronting  a  situation  that  vitally 
affected  her  future — must  she,  like  other  women, 
trust,  trust? 

"But  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  Con?"  Kendall's 
voice  roused  Lynda  sharply. 

"Why — everything,"  she  said  in  her  simple,  frank 
way,  "he — he  is  offering  me  a  second  love,  Brace." 

For  a  moment  Kendall  thought  his  sister  was  re- 
sorting to  sarcasm  or  frivolity.  But  one  look  at 
her  unsmiling  face  and  shadow-touched  eyes  con- 
vinced him. 

"You  hardly  are  the  woman  to  whom  dregs  should 
be  offered,"  he  said  slowly,  and  then,  "But  Con! 
Good  Lord!" 

"Brace,  now  I  am  speaking  the  woman's  language, 
perhaps  you  may  not  be  able  to  understand  me, 
but  I  know  Con  is  not  offering  me  dregs — I  do  not 
think  he  has  any  dregs  in  his  nature;  he  is  offering  me 
the  best,  the  truest  love  of  his  life.  I  know  it!  I 
know  it!  The  love  that  would  bring  my  greatest  joy 
and  his  best  good  and — yet  I  am  afraid!" 

Kendall  went  over  and  stood  close  beside  his  sister 
again. 

"You  know  that?"  he  asked,  "and  still  are  afraid? 
Why?" 


228  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

The  clear  eyes  looked  up  pathetically.  "Because 
Con  may  not  know,  and  I  may  not  be  able  to  make 
him  know — make  him — forget!" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Kendall  was  never 
to  forget  the  magnolia  tree  in  its  gorgeous,  pink 
bloom;  the  droop  of  his  strong,  fine  sister!  Sharply 
he  recalled  the  night  long  ago  when  Truedale  groaned 
and  threw  his  letters  on  the  fire. 

"Lyn,  I  hardly  dare  ask  this,  knowing  you  as  I  do 
—you  are  not  the  sort  to  compromise  with  honour 
selfishly  or  idiotically — but,  Lyn,  the — the  other 
love,  it  was  not — an  evil  thing?" 

The  tears  sprang  to  Lynda's  eyes  and  she  flung 
her  arms  around  her  brother's  neck  and  holding  him 
so  whispered : 

"No!  no!  At  least  I  can  understand  that.  It 
was  the — the  most  beautiful  and  tender  tragedy. 
That  is  the  trouble.  It  was  so — wonderful,  that  I 
fear  no  man  can  ever  quite  forget  and  take  the  new 
love  without  a  backward  look.  And  oh!  Brace,  I 
must  have — my  own!  Men  cannot  always  under- 
stand women  when  they  say  this.  They  think, 
when  we  say  we  want  our  own  lives,  that  it  means 
lives  running  counter  to  theirs.  This  is  not  so.  We 
want,  we  must  choose — but  the  best  of  us  want  the 
common  life  that  draws  close  to  the  heart  of  things; 
we  want  to  go  with  our  men  and  along  their  way. 
Our  way  and  theirs  are  the  same  way,  when  love  is 
big  enough. " 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  229 

"Lyn — there  isn't  a  man  on  God's  earth  worthy  of 
-you!" 

"Brace,  look  at  me — answer  true.  Am  I  such 
that  a  man  could  really  want  me?" 

He  looked  long  at  her.  Bravely  he  strove  to 
forget  the  blood  tie  that  held  them.  He  regarded 
her  from  the  viewpoint  that  another  man  might  have. 
Then  he  said: 

"Yes.     As  God  hears  me,  Lyn — yes!" 

She  dropped  her  head  upon  his  shoXilder  and  wept 
as  if  grief  instead  of  joy  were  sweeping  over  her. 
Presently  she  raised  her  tear-wet  face  and  said : 

"I'm  going  to  marry  Con,  dear,  as  soon  as  he 
wants  me.  I  hate  to  say  this,  Brace,  but  it  is  a  little 
as  if  Conning  had  come  home  to  me  from  an  honour- 
able war — a  bit  mutilated.  I  must  try  to  get  used 
to  him  and  I  will!  I  will!" 

Kendall  held  her  to  him  close.  "Lyn,  I  never 
knew  until  this  moment  how  much  I  have  to  humbly 
thank  God  for.  Oh!  if  men  only  could  see  ahead, 
young  fellows  I  mean,  they  would  not  come  to  a 
woman — mutilated.  I  haven't  much  to  offer,  heaven 
knows,  but — well,  Lyn,  I  can  offer  a  clear  record  to 
some  woman — some  day!" 

All  that  day  Lynda  thought  of  the  future.  Sitting 
in  her  workshop  with  the  toy-like  emblems  of  her 
craft  at  hand  she  thought  and  thought.  It  seemed 
to  her,  struggling  alone,  that  men  and  women,  after 
all,  walked  through  life — largely  apart.  They  had 


23o  THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 

built  bridges  with  love  and  necessity  and  over  them 
they  crossed  to  touch  each  other  for  a  space,  but  oh! 
how  she  longed  for  a  common  highway  where  she 
and  Con  could  walk  always  together!  She  wanted 
this  so  much,  so  much! 

At  five  o'clock  she  telephoned  to  Truedale.  She 
knew  he  generally  went  to  his  apartment  at  that  hour. 

"I — I  want  to  see  you,  Con,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  Lyn.     Where?" 

She  felt  the  answer  meant  much,  so  she  paused. 

"After  dinner,  Con,  and  come  right  up  to — to 
my  workshop." 

"I  will  be  there — early." 

Lynda  was  never  more  her  merry  old  self  than  she 
was  at  dinner;  but  she  was  genuinely  relieved  when 
Brace  told  her  he  was  going  out. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  Lyn?"  he  asked. 

"Why — go  up  to  my  workshop.  I've  neglected 
things  horribly,  lately." 

"I  thought  that  night  work  was  taboo?" 

"I  rarely  work  at  night,  Brace.  And  you — where 
are  you  going?" 

"Up  to  Morrell's." 

Lynda  raised  her  eyebrows. 

"Mrs.  Morrell's  sister  has  come  from  the  West, 
Lyn.  She's  very  interesting.  She's  voted,  and  it 
hasn't  hurt  her." 

"Why  should  it?  And" — Lynda  came  around  the 
table  and  paused  as  she  was  about  to  go  out  of  the 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  231 

room— "I  wonder  if  she  could  pass  the  coffee-urn 
test,  on  a  pinch?" 

Kendall  coloured  vividly.  "I've  been  thinking 
more  of  my  end  of  the  table  since  I  saw  her  than  I 
ever  have  before  in  my  life.  It  isn't  all  coffee-urn, 
Lyn." 

"Indeed  it  isn't!  I  must  see  this  little  womanly 
Lochinvar  at  once.  Is  she  pretty — pretty  as  Mrs. 
John?" 

"Why — I  don't  know.  I  haven't  thought.  She's 
so  different  from — every  one.  She's  little  but  makes 
you  think — big.  She's  always  saying  things  you 
remember  afterward,  but  she  doesn't  talk  much. 
She's — she's  got  light  hair  and  blue  eyes!"  This 
triumphantly. 

"And  I  hope  she — dresses  well?"  This  with  a 
twinkle,  for  Kendall  was  keen  about  the  details  of  a 
woman's  dress. 

"She  must,  or  I  would  have  noticed."  Then, 
upon  reflection,  "or  perhaps  I  wouldn't." 

"Well,  good-night,  Brace,  and — give  Mrs.  John 
my  love.  Poor  dear!  she  came  up  to  ask  me  yester- 
day if  I  could  make  a  small  room  look  spacious! 
You  see,  John  likes  to  have  everything  cluttered— 
close  to  his  touch.  She  wants  him  to  have  his  way 
and  at  the  same  time  she  wants  to  breathe,  too.  Her 
West  is  in  her  blood." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it,  Lyn?" 
Kendall  lighted  a  cigar  and  laughed. 


232  THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 

"Oh,  I  managed  to  give  a  prairie-like  suggestion 
of  openness  to  her  living-room  plan  and  I  told  her 
to  make  John  reach  for  a  few  things.  It  would  do 
him  good  and  save  her  soul  alive." 

"And  she — what  did  she  say  to  that?" 

"Oh,  she  laughed.  She  has  such  a  pretty  laugh. 
Good-night,  brother." 

And  then  Lynda  went  upstairs  to  her  quiet,  dim 
room.  It  was  a  warmish  night,  with  a  moon  that 
shone  through  the  open  space  in  the  rear.  The  lot 
had  not  been  built  upon  and  the  white  path  that 
had  seemed  to  lure  old  William  Truedale  away  from 
life  now  stretched  before  Lynda  Kendall,  leading 
into  life.  Whatever  doubts  and  fears  she  had  known 
were  put  away.  In  her  soft  thin  dress,  standing  by 
the  open  window,  she  was  the  gladdest  creature  one 
could  wish  to  see.  And  so  Truedale  found  her. 
He  knew  that  only  one  reason  had  caused  Lynda  to 
meet  him  as  she  was  now  doing.  It  was — surrender! 
Across  the  moon-lighted  room  he  went  to  her  with 
opened  arms,  and  when  she  came  to  meet  him  and 
lifted  her  face  he  kissed  her  reverently. 

"I  wonder  if  you  have  thought?"  he  whispered. 

"I  have  done  nothing  else  in  the  ages  since  I 
last  saw  you,  Con." 

"And  you  are  not — afraid?  You,  who  should 
have  the  best  the  world  has  to  offer?" 

"I  am  not  afraid;  and  I — have  the  best — the  very 
best." 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  233 

Again  Truedale  kissed  her. 

"And  when — may  I  come  home — to  stay?"  he 
asked  presently,  knowing  full  well  that  the  old  home 
must  be  theirs. 

Lynda  looked  up  and  smiled  radiantly.  "I  had 
hoped,"  she  said,  "that  I  might  have  the  honour  of 
declining  the  little  apartment.  I'm  so  glad,  Con,  dear, 
that  you  want  to  come  home  to  stay  and  will  not 
have  to  be — forced  here!"  And  at  that  moment 
Lynda  had  no  thought  of  the  money.  Bigger, 
deeper  things  held  her. 

"And — our  wedding  day,  Lyn?  Surely  it  may 
be  soon." 

"Let  me  see.  Of  course  I'm  a  woman,  Con, 
and  therefore  I  must  think  of  clothes.  And  I  would 
like — oh!  very  much — to  be  married  in  a  certain  little 
church  across  the  river.  I  found  it  once  on  a  tramp. 
There  are  vines  running  wild  over  it — pink  roses. 
And  roses  come  in  early  June,  Con." 

"But,  dearest,  this  is  only — March." 

"I  must  have — the  roses,  Con." 

And  so  it  was  decided. 

Late  that  night,  in  the  stillness  of  the  five  little 
rooms  of  the  big  apartment,  Truedale  thought  of 
his  past  and  his  future. 

How  splendid  Lynda  had  been.  Not  a  word  of 
all  that  he  had  told  her,  and  yet  full  well  he  realized 
how  she  had  battled  with  it!  She  had  accepted  it 
and  him!  And  for  such  love  and  faith  his  life  would 


234  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

be  only  too  short  to  prove  his  learning  of  his  hard 
lesson.  The  man  he  now  was  sternly  confronted 
the  man  he  had  once  been,  and  then  Truedale  re- 
nounced the  former  forever — renounced  him  with 
pity,  not  with  scorn.  His  only  chance  of  being 
worthy  of  the  love  that  had  come  into  his  life  now, 
was  to  look  upon  the  past  as  a  stepping  stone.  Un- 
less it  could  be  that,  it  would  be  a  bottomless  pit. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  roses  came  early  that  June.  Truedale 
and  Lynda  went  often  on  their  walks  to  the 
little  church  nestling  deep  among  the  trees 
in  the  Jersey  town.  They  got  acquainted  with  the 
old  minister  and  finally  they  set  their  wedding  day. 
They,  with  Brace,  went  over  early  on  the  morning. 
Lynda  was  in  her  travelling  gown  for,  after  a  luncheon, 
she  and  Truedale  were  going  to  the  New  Hampshire 
mountains.  It  was  such  a  day  as  revived  the  rep- 
utation of  June,  and  somehow  the  minister,  steeped 
in  the  conventions  of  his  office,  could  not  let  things 
rest  entirely  in  the  hands  of  the  very  eccentric 
young  people  who  had  won  his  consent  to  marry 
them.  An  organist,  practising,  stayed  on,  and  al- 
ways Lynda  was  to  recall,  when  she  thought  of  her 
wedding  day,  those  tender  notes  that  rose  and  fell 
like  a  stream  upon  which  the  sacred  words  of  the 
simple  service  floated. 

"The  Voice  That  Breathed  O'er  Eden"  was 
what  the  unseen  musician  played.  He  seemed 
detached,  impersonal,  and  only  the  repeated  strains 
gave  evidence  of  his  sympathy.  An  old  woman 
had  wandered  into  the  church  and  sat  near  the 
door  with  a  rapt,  wistful  look  on  her  wrinkled 

235 


236  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

face.  Near  the  altar  was  a  little  child,  a  tiny  girl 
with  a  bunch  of  wayside  flowers  in  her  fat,  moist 
hand. 

Lynda  paused  and  whispered  something  to  the 
little  maid  and  then,  as  she  went  forward,  Truedale 
noticed  that  the  child  was  beside  Lynda,  a  shabby, 
wee  maid  of  honour! 

It  was  very  quaint,  very  touchingly  pretty,  but 
the  scene  overawed  the  baby  and  when  the  last 
words  were  said  and  Truedale  had  kissed  his  wife 
they  noticed  that  the  little  one  was  in  tears.  Lynda 
bent  over  her  full  of  tenderness. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  she  whispered. 

"I — I  want — my  mother!" 

"So  do  I,  sweetheart;  so  do  I!" 

The  wet  eyes  were  raised  in  wonder. 

"And  where  is  your  mother,  baby?" 

"Up— up— the  hill!" 

"Why,  so  is  mine,  but  you  will  find  yours — first. 
Don't  cry,  sweetheart.  See,  here  is  a  little  ring. 
It  is  too  large  for  you  now,  but  let  your  mother 
keep  it,  and  when  you  are  big  enough,  wear  it — and 
remember — me." 

Dazzled  by  the  gift,  the  child  smiled  up  radiantly. 
"Good-bye,"  she  whispered,  "I'll  tell  mother— 
and  I  won't  forget." 

Later  that  same  golden  day,  when  Kendall  bade 
his  sister  and  Truedale  good-bye  at  the  station  he 
had  the  look  on  his  face  that  he  used. to  have  when, 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  237 

as  a  child,  he  was  wont  to  wonder  why  he  had  to  be 
brave  because  he  was  a  boy. 

It  made  Lynda  laugh,  even  while  a  lump  came 
in  her  throat.  Then,  as  in  the  old  days,  she  sought 
to  recompense  him,  without  relenting  as  to  the  code. 

"Of  course  you'll  miss  us,  dear  old  fellow,  but 
we'll  soon  be  back  and" — she  put  her  lips  to  his  ear 
and  whispered — "there's  the  little  sister  of  the 
Morrells;  play  with  her  until  we  come  home." 

There  are  times  in  life  that  stand  forth  as  if 
specially  designed,  and  cause  one  to  wonder,  if 
after  all,  a  personal  God  isn't  directing  affairs  for 
the  individual.  They  surely  could  not  have  just 
happened,  those  weeks  in  the  mountains.  So  warm 
and  still  and  cloudless  they  were  for  early  June. 
And  then  there  was  a  moon  for  a  little  while — a  calm, 
wonderful  moon  that  sent  its  fair  light  through  the 
tall  trees  like  a  benediction.  After  that  there  were 
stars — millions  of  them — each  in  its  place  surrounded 
by  that  blue-blackness  that  is  luminous  and  unearthly. 
Securing  a  guide,  Truedale  and  Lynda  sought  their 
own  way  and  slept,  at  night,  in  wayside  shelters 
by  their  own  campfires.  They  had  no  definite 
destination;  they  simply  wandered  like  pilgrims, 
taking  the  day's  dole  with  joyous  hearts  and  going 
to  their  sleep  at  night  with  healthy  weariness. 

Only  once  during  those  weeks  did  they  speak 
of  that  past  of  Truedale's  that  Lynda  had  accepted 
in  silence. 


238  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"My  wife,"  Truedale  said — she  was  sitting  be- 
side him  by  the  outdoor  fire — "I  want  you  always 
to  remember  that  I  am  more  grateful  than  words 
can  express  for  your — bigness,  your  wonderful 
understanding.  I  did  not  expect  that  even  you, 
Lyn,  could  be — so!" 

She  trembled  a  little — he  remembered  that  after- 
ward— he  felt  her  against  his  shoulder. 

"I  think — I  know,"  she  whispered,  "that  women 
consider  the  effect  of  such — things,  Con.  Had  the 
experience  been  low,  it  would  have  left  its  mark; 
as  it  is  I  am  sure — well,  it  has  not  darkened  your 
vision." 

"No,  Lyn,  no!" 

"And  lately,  I  have  been  thinking  of  her,  Con — 
that  little  Nella-Rose." 

"You— have?     You  could,  Lyn?" 

"Yes.  At  first  I  couldn't  possibly  comprehend 
—I  do  not  now,  really,  but  I  find  myself  believing, 
in  spite  of  my  inability  to  understand,  that  the 
experience  has  cast  such  a  light  upon  her  way,  poor 
child,  that — off  in  some  rude  mountain  home — she 
has  a  little  fairer  space  than  some.  Con,  knowing 
you,  I  believe  you  could  not  have — lowered  her. 
She  went  back  to  her  natural  love — it  must  have 
been  a  strong  call — but  I  shall  never  believe  her 
depraved." 

"Lyn,"  Truedale's  voice  was  husky,  "once  you 
made  me  reconciled  to  my  uncle's  death — it  was  the 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  239 

way  you  put  it — and  now  you  have  made  me  dare 
to  be — happy." 

"Men  never  grow  up!"  Lynda  pressed  her  face 
to  his  shoulder,  "they  make  a  bluff  at  caring  for  us 
and  defending  us  and  all  the  rest — but  we  under- 
stand, we  understand!  I  think  women  mother 
men  always  even  when  they  rely  upon  them  most,  as 
I  do  upon  you!  It's  so  splendid  to  think,  when  we 
go  home,  of  the  great  things  we  are  going  to  do- 
together." 

A  letter  from  Brace,  eventually,  made  them  turn 
their  faces  homeward.  It  was  late  July  then. 

LYN,  DEAR: 

When  you  can  conveniently  give  me  a  thought,  do.  And  when 
are  you  coming  back?  I  hope  I  shall  not  shock  you  unduly — 
but  it's  that  little  sister  of  the  Morrells  that  is  the  matter, 
Elizabeth  Arnold — Betty  we  call  her.  I've  got  to  marry  her  as 
soon  as  I  can.  I'll  never  be  able  to  do  any  serious  business 
again  until  I  get  her  behind  the  coffee-urn.  She  haunts  me  day 
and  night  and  then  when  I  see  her — she  laughs  at  me!  We've 
been  over  to  look  at  that  church  where  you  and  Con  were  married. 
Betty  likes  it,  but  prefers  her  own  folk  to  stray  old  women  and 
lost  kids.  We  think  September  would  be  a  jolly  month  to  be 
married  in,  but  Betty  refuses  to  set  a  day  until  she  finds  out  if 
she  approves  of  my  people!  That's  the  way  she  puts  it.  She 
says  she  wants  to  find  out  if  you  believe  in  women's  voting,  for 
if  you  don't,  she  knows  she  never  could  get  on  with  you.  She 
believes  that  the  thing  that  makes  women  opposed,  does  other 
things  to  them — rather  unpleasant,  unfriendly  things. 

I  told  her  your  sentiments  and  then  she  asked  about  Con. 
She  says  she  wouldn't  trust  the  freest  woman  in  the  East  if  she 
were  married  to  a  slave-believing  man. 

By  all  this  you  will  judge  what  a  comical  little  cuss  Betty 


240  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

is,  but  all  the  same  I  am  quite  serious  in  urging  you  to  come 
home  before  I  grow  desperate. 

BRACE. 

Truedale  looked  at  Lynda  in  blank  amazement. 
"I'd  forgotten  about  the  sister,"  he  said,  inanely. 

"I  think,  dear,  we'll  have  to  go  home.  I  remember 
once  when  we  were  quite  little,  Brace  and  I,  mother 
had  taken  me  for  a  visit  and  left  him  at  home.  He 
sent  a  letter  to  mother — it  was  in  printing — 'You 
better  come  back,'  he  said;  'You  better  come  in 
three  days  or  I'll  do  something.'  We  got  there  on  the 
fourth  day  and  we  found  that  he  had  broken  the 
rocking  chair  in  which  mother  used  to  put  him  to 
sleep  when  he  was  good!" 

"The  little  rowdy!"  Truedale  laughed.  "I  hope 
he  got  a  walloping." 

"No.  Mother  cried  a  little,  had  the  chair  mended, 
and  always  said  she  was  sorry  that  she  had  not  got 
home  on  the  third  day. " 

"I  see.  Well,  Lyn,  let's  go  home  to  him.  I  don't 
know  what  he  might  break,  but  perhaps  we  couldn't 
mend  it,  so  we'll  take  no  chances." 

Truedale  and  Lynda  had  walked  rather  giddily 
upon  the  heights;  the  splendour  of  stars  and  the 
warm  touch  of  the  sun  had  been  very  near  them; 
but  once  they  descended  to  the  paths  of  plain  duty 
they  were  not  surprised  to  find  that  they  lay  along 
a  pleasant  valley  and  were  warmed  by  the  brightness 
of  the  hills. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  241 

"It's — home,  now!"  whispered  Truedale  as  he  let 
himself  and  Lynda  in  at  the  front  door,  "I  wish 
Uncle  William  were  here  to  welcome  us.  How  he 
loved  you,  Lyn." 

Like  a  flood  of  joy  memory  overcame  Lynda. 
This  was  how  William  Truedale  had  loved  her — this 
luxury  of  home — and  then  she  looked  at  Truedale 
and  almost  told  him  of  the  money,  the  complete 
assurance  of  the  old  man's  love  and  trust.  But  of  a 
sudden  it  became  impossible,  though. why,  Lynda 
could  not  have  said.  She  shrank  from  what  she  had 
once  believed  would  be  her  crowning  joy;  she  decided 
to  leave  the  matter  entirely  with  Dr.  McPherson. 

After  all,  she  concluded,  it  should  be  Con's  right 
to  bring  to  her  this  last  touching  proof  of  his  uncle's 
love  and  desire.  How  proud  he  would  be!  How 
they  would  laugh  over  it  all  when  they  both  knew 
the  secret! 

So  the  subject  was  not  referred  to  and  a  day  or  so 
later  Betty  Arnold  entered  their  lives,  and  so  intense 
was  their  interest  in  her  and  her  affairs  that  personal 
matters  were,  for  the  moment,  overlooked. 

Lynda  went  first  to  call  upon  Betty  alone.  If  she 
were  to  be  disappointed,  she  wanted  time  to  readjust 
herself  before  she  encountered  other  eyes.  Betty 
Arnold,  too,  was  alone  in  her  sister's  drawing  room 
when  Lynda  was  announced.  The  two  girls  looked 
long  and  searchingly  at  each  other,  then  Lynda  put 
her  hands  out  impulsively: 


242  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"It's  really  too  good  to  be  true!"  was  all  she 
could  manage  as  she  looked  at  the  fair,  slight  girl  and 
cast  doubt  off  forever. 

"Isn't  it?"  echoed  Betty.  "Whew!  but  this  is 
the  sort  of  thing  that  ages  one." 

"Would  it  have  mattered,  Betty,  whether  I  was 
pleased  or  not?" 

"Lynda,  it  would — awfully!  You  see,  all  my 
life  I've  been  independent  until  I  met  Brace  and  now 
I  want  everything  that  belongs  to  him.  His  love 
and  mine  collided  but  it  didn't  shock  us  to  blindness, 
it  awakened  us — body  and  soul.  When  that  hap- 
pens, everything  matters — everything  that  belongs 
to  him  and  me.  I  knew  you  liked  Mollie,  and  John 
is  an  old  friend;  they're  all  I've  got,  and  so  you  see 
if  you  and  I  hadn't — liked  each  other,  it  would  have 
been — tragic.  Now  let's  sit  down  and  have  tea. 
Isn't  it  great  that  we  won't  have  to  choke  over  it?" 

Betty  presided  at  the  small  table  so  daintily  and 
graciously  that  her  occasional  lapses  into  slang 
were  like  the  dartings  of  a  particularly  frisky  little 
animal  from  the  beaten  track  of  conventions.  She 
and  Lynda  grew  confidential  in  a  half  hour  and  felt 
as  if  they  had  known  each  other  for  years  at  the  close 
of  the  call.  Just  as  Lynda  was  reluctantly  leaving, 
Mrs.  Morrell  came  in.  She  was  darker,  more  digni- 
fied than  her  sister,  but  like  her  in  voice  and  laugh. 

"Mollie,  I  wish  I  had  told  you  to  stay  another 
hour,"  Betty  exclaimed,  going  to  her  sister  and  kissing 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  243 

her.  "And  oh!  Mollie,  Lynda  likes  me!  I'll  confess 
to  you  both  now  that  I  have  lain  awake  nights 
dreading  this  ordeal." 

When  Lynda  met  Brace  that  evening  she  was 
amused  at  his  drawn  face  and  tense  voice. 

"How  did  you  like  her?"  he  asked  feebly  and  at 
that  moment  Lynda  realized  how  futile  a  subterfuge 
would  have  been. 

"Brace,  I  love  her!" 

"Thank  God!" 

"Why,  Brace!" 

"I  mean  it.  It  would  have  gone  hard  with  me 
if  you  hadn't." 

To  Truedale,  Betty  presented  another  aspect. 

"You  can  trust  women  with  your  emotions  about 
men,"  she  confided  to  Lynda,  "but  not  men!  I 
wouldn't  let  Brace  know  for  anything  how  my  love 
for  him  hobbles  me;  and  if  your  Con — by  the  way,  he's 
a  great  deal  nicer  than  I  expected — should  guess  my 
abject  state,  he'd  go  to  Brace  and — put  him  wise! 
That's  why  men  have  got  where  they  are  to-day — 
standing  together.  And  then-  Brace  might  begin  at, 
once  to  bully  me.  You  see,  Lynda,  when  a  husband 
gets  the  upper  hand  it's  often  because  he's  reinforced 
by  all  the  knowledge  his  male  friends  hand  out  to 
him." 

Truedale  met  Betty  first  at  the  dinner — the  little 
family  dinner  Lynda  gave  for  her.  Morrell  and 
his  wife.  Brace  and  Betty,  himself  and  Lynda. 


244  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

In  a  trailing  blue  gown  Betty  looked  quite  stately 
and  she  carried  her  blond  head  high.  She  sparkled 
away  through  dinner  and  proved  her  happy  faculty 
of  fitting  in,  perfectly.  It  was  a  very  merry  meal, 
and  later,  by  the  library  fire,  Conning  found  himself 
tete-a-tete  with  his  future  sister-in-law.  She  amused 
him  hugely. 

"I  declare,"  he  said  teasingly,  "I  can  hardly  be- 
lieve that  you  believe  in  the  equality  of  the  sexes." 
They  were  attacking  that  problem  at  the  moment. 

"I — don't!"  Betty  looked  quaintly  demure.  "I 
believe  in  the  superiority  of  men!" 

"Good  Lord!" 

"I  do.  That's  why  I  want  all  women  to  have  the 
same  chance  that  men  have  had  to  get  superior.  I — • 
I  want  my  sisters  to  get  there,  too!" 

"There?  Just  where?"  Truedale  began  to  think 
the  girl  frivolous;  but  her  charm  held. 

"Why,  where  their  qualifications  best  fit  them  to  be. 
I'm  going  to  tell  you  a  secret — I'm  tremendously 
religious!  I  believe  God  knows,  better  than  men, 
about  women;  I  want — well,  I  don't  want  to  seem 
flippant — but  truly  I'd  like  to  hear  God  speak  for 
himself!" 

Truedale  smiled.  ''That's  a  common-sense  argu- 
ment, anyway,"  he  said.  "But  I  suppose  we  men 
are  afraid  to  trust  any  one  else;  we  don't  want  to — 
lose  you." 

"As  if  you  could!"     Betty  held  her  small,  white 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  245 

hand  out  to  the  dog  lying  at  her  feet.  "As  if  we 
didn't  know,  that  whatever  we  don't  want,  we  do 
want  you.  Why,  you  are  our — job." 

Truedale  threw  his  head  back  and  laughed. 
"You're  like  a  whiff  of  your  big  mountain  air,"  he 
said. 

"I  hope  I  always  will  be,"  Betty  replied  softly  and 
earnestly,  "I  must  keep — free,  no  matter  what 
happens.  I  must  keep  what  I  am,  or  how  can  I 
expect  to  keep — Brace  ?  He  loved  this  me.  Marriage 
doesn't  perform  a  miracle,  does  it — Conning?  please 
let  me  call  you  that.  Lynda  has  told  me  how  she 
and  you  believe  in  two  lives,  not  one  narrow  little 
life.  It's  splendid.  And  now  I  am  going  to  tell 
you  another  secret.  I'll  have  to  let  Lynda  in  on  this, 
too,  she  must  help  me.  I  have  a  little  money  of  my 
very  own — I  earned  every  cent  of  it.  I  am  going  to 
buy  a  tiny  bit  of  ground,  I've  picked  it  out — it's 
across  the  river  in  the  woods.  I'm  going  to  build  a 
house,  not  much  of  a  one,  a  very  small  one,  and  I'm 
going  to  call  it — The  Refuge.  When  I  cannot  find 
myself,  when  I  get  lost,  after  I'm  married,  and  am 
trying  to  be  everything  to  Brace,  I'm  going  to  run 
away  to — The  Refuge ! "  The  blue  eyes  were  shining 
"And  nobody  can  come  there,  not  even  Brace, 
except  by  invitation.  I  think" — very  softly— -"I 
think  all  women  should  have  a — a  Refuge." 

Truedale  found  himself  impressed.  "You're  a 
very  wise  little  woman,"  he  said. 


246  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"One  has  to  be,  sometimes,"  came  the  slow  words. 
And  at  that  moment  all  doubt  of  Betty's  serious- 
mindedness  departed. 

Brace  joined  them  presently.  He  looked  as  if  he 
had  been  straining  at  a  leash  since  dinner  time. 

"Con,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  the  light  head 
bending  over  the  dog,  "now  that  you  have  talked 
and  laughed  with  Betty,  what  have  you  got  to  say?" 

"Congratulations,  Ken,  with  all  my  heart." 

"And  now,  Betty" — there  was  a  new  tone  in 
Kendall's  voice — "Mollie  has  said  you  may  walk 
back  with  me.  The  taxi  would  stifle  us.  There's  a 
moon,  dear,  and  a  star  or  two 

"As  if  that  mattered!"  Betty  broke  in.  "I'm 
very,  very  happy.  Brace,  you've  got  a  nice,  sensible 
family.  They  agree  with  me  in  everything." 

The  weeks  passed  rapidly.  Betty's  affairs  ab- 
sorbed them  all,  though  she  laughingly  urged  them 
to  leave  her  alone. 

"It's  quite  awful  enough  to  feel  yourself  being 
carried  along  by  a  deluge,"  she  jokingly  said,  "with- 
out hearing  the  cheers  from  the  banks." 

But  Mollie  Morrell  flung  herself  heart  and  soul 
into  the  arranging  of  the  wardrobe — playing  big 
sister  for  the  first  and  only  time  in  her  life.  She  was 
older  than  Betty,  but  the  younger  girl  had  always 
swayed  the  elder. 

And  Lynda  became  fascinated  with  the  little 
bungalow  across  the  river,  known  as  The  Refuge. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  247 

The  original  fancy  touched  her  imagination  and 
she  put  other  work  aside  while  she  vied  with  Betty 
for  expression. 

"I've  found  an  old  man  and  woman,  near  by," 
Betty  said  one  day,  "they  were  afraid  they  would 
have  to  go  to  the  poor-house,  although  both  are  able 
to  do  a  little.  I'm  going  to  put  them  in  my  bunga- 
low— the  two  little  upstair  rooms  shall  be  theirs. 
When  I  run  down  to  find  myself  it  will  be  homey  to 
see  the  two  shining,  old  faces  there  to  greet  me. 
They  are  not  a  bit  cringing;  I  think  they  know  how 
much  they  will  mean  to  me.  They  consider  me 
rather  immoral,  I  know,  but  that  doesn't  matter." 

And  then  in  early  October  Brace  and  Betty  were 
married  in  the  church  across  the  river.  Red  and 
gold  autumn  leaves  were  falling  where  earlier  the 
roses  had  clambered;  it  was  a  brisk,  cool  day  full  of 
sun  and  shade  and  the  wedding  was  more  to  the 
old  clergyman's  taste.  The  organist  was  in  his  place, 
his  music  discriminately  chosen,  there  were  guests 
and  flowers  and  discreet  costumes. 

"More  as  it  should  be,"  thought  the  serene 
pastor;  but  Lynda  missed  the  kindly  old  woman 
who  had  drifted  in  on  her  wedding  day,  and  the 
small,  tearful  girl  who  had  wanted  her  mother. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THERE  are  spaces  in  all  lives  that  seem  so  sur- 
rounded by  safety  and  established  condi- 
tions that  one  cannot  conceive  of  change. 
Those  particular  spots  may  know  light  and  shade 
of  passing  events  but  it  seems  that  they  cannot,  of 
themselves,  be  affected.  So  Truedale  and  Lynda  had 
considered  their  lives  at  that  period.  They  were 
supremely  happy,  they  were  gloriously  busy — and 
that  meant  that  they  both  recognized  limitations. 
They  took  each  day  as  it  came  and  let  it  go  at  the 
end  with  a  half-conscious  knowledge  that  it  had 
been  too  short. 

Then  one  late  October  afternoon  Truedale  tapped 
on  the  door  of  Lynda's  workshop  and  to  her  cheery 
"come,"  entered,  closed  the  door  after  him,  and 
sat  down.  He  was  very  white  and  sternly  serious. 
Lynda  looked  at  him  questioningly  but  did  not 
speak. 

"I've  seen  Dr.  McPherson,"  Conning  said  pres- 
ently, "he  sent  for  me.  He's  been  away,  you  know." 

"I  had  not  known — but "  Then  Lynda  re- 
membered ! 

"Lynda,  did  you  know — of  my  uncle's — will 
before  his  death?" 

248 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  249 

"Why,  yes,  Con." 

Something  cold  and  death-like  clutched  Lynda's 
heart.  It  was  as  if  an  icy  wave  had  swept  warmth 
and  safety  before  it,  leaving  her  aghast  and  afraid. 

"Yes,  I  knew." 

"Will  you  tell  me — I  could  not  go  into  this  with 
McPherson,  somehow;  he  didn't  see  it  my  way, 
naturally — will  you  tell  me  what  would  have  be- 
come of  the — the  fortune  had  I  not  married  you?" 

The  deathly  whiteness  of  Lynda's  face  did  not 
stay  Truedale's  hard  words;  he  was  not  thinking  of 
her — even  of  himself;  he  was  thinking  of  the  irony 
of  fate  in  the  broad  sense. 

"The  money  would  have — come  to  me. "  Then,  as 
if  to  divert  any  further  misunderstanding.  "And  when 
I  refused  it — it  would  have  reverted  to  charities." 

"I  see.  And  you  did  this  for  me,  Lyn!  How 
little  even  you  understood.  Now  that  I  have  the 
cursed  money  I  do  not  know  what  to  do  with  it — 
how  to  get  rid  of  it.  Still  it  was  like  you,  Lynda, 
to  sacrifice  yourself  in  order  that  I  might  have  what 
you  thought  was  my  due.  You  always  did  that, 
from  girlhood.  I  might  have  known  no  other 
woman  could  have  done  what  you  have  done,  no 
such  woman  as  you,  Lyn,  without  a  mighty  motive; 
but  you  did  not  know  me,  really!" 

And  now,  looking  at  Lynda,  it  was  like  looking 
at  a  dead  face — a  face  from  which  warmth  and  light 
had  been  stricken. 


250  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"I — do  not  know  what  you — mean,  Con,"  she 
said,  vaguely. 

"Being  you,  Lyn,  you  couldn't  have  taken  the 
money,  yourself,  particularly  if  you  had  declined  to 
marry  me.  A  lesser  woman  would  have  done  it 
without  a  qualm,  feeling  justified  in  outwitting  so 
cruel  a  thing  as  the  bequest;  but  not  you!  You  saw 
no  other  way,  so  you — you  with  your  high  ideals 
and  clear  beliefs — you  married  the  man  I  am — in 
order  to — to  give  me — my  own.  Oh,  Lyn,  what  a 
sacrifice!" 

"Stop!"  Lynda  rose  from  her  chair  and,  by  a 
wide  gesture,  swept  the  marks  of  her  trade  far  from 
her.  In  so  doing  she  seemed  to  make  space  to 
breathe  and  think. 

"Do  you  think  I  am  the  sort  of  girl  who  would 
sell  herself  for  anything — even  for  the  justice  I 
might  think  was  yours?" 

"Sell  yourself?  Thank  God,  between  us,  Lynda, 
that  does  not  enter  in." 

"It  would  have,  were  I  the  woman  your  words 
imply.  I  had  nothing  to  gain  by  marrying  you, 
nothing!  Nothing — that  is — but — but — what  you 
are  unable  to  see."  And  then,  so  suddenly  that 
Truedale  could  not  stop  her,  Lynda  almost  ran 
from  the  room. 

For  an  hour  Truedale  sat  in  her  empty  shop 
and  waited.  He  dared  not  seek  her  and  he  realized, 
at  last,  that  she  was  not  coming  back  to  him.  His 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  251 

frame  of  mind  was  so  abject  and  personal  that  he 
could  not  get  Lynda's  point  of  view.  He  could  not, 
as  yet,  see  the  insult  he  had  offered,  because  he  had 
set  her  so  high  and  himself  so  low.  He  saw  her 
only  as  the  girl  and  woman  who,  her  life  through, 
had  put  herself  aside  and  considered  others.  He 
saw  himself  in  the  light  such  a  woman  as  he  believed 
Lynda  to  be  would  regard  him.  He  might  have 
known,  he  bitterly  acknowledged,  that  Lynda  could 
not  have  overlooked  in  her  pure  Woman  soul  the 
lapse  of  his  earlier  life.  He  remembered  how, 
that  night  of  his  confession,  she  had  begged  to  be 
alone — to  think!  Later,  her  silence — oh!  he  under- 
stood it  now.  It  was  her  only  safeguard.  And  that 
once,  in  the  woods,  when  he  had  blindly  believed  in 
his  great  joy — how  she  had  solemnly  made  the  best 
of  the  experience  that  was  too  deep  in  both  hearts 
to  be  resurrected.  What  a  fool  he  had  been  to  dream 
that  so  wrong  a  step  as  he  had  once  taken  could  lead 
him  to  perfect  peace.  Thinking  these  thoughts, 
how  could  he,  as  yet,  comprehend  the  wrong  he  was 
doing  Lynda?  Why,  he  was  grieving  over  her, 
almost  breaking  his  heart  in  his  desire  to  do  some- 
thing— anything — to  free  her  from  the  results  of 
her  useless  sacrifice. 

At  six  o'clock  Truedale  went  downstairs,  but  the 
house  was  empty.  Lynda  had  gone,  taking  all 
sense  of  home  with  her.  He  did  not  wait  to  see  what 
the  dinner  hour  might  bring  about;  he  could  not 


252  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

trust  himself  just  then.  Indeed — having  blasted 
every  familiar  landmark — he  was  utterly  and  hope- 
lessly lost.  He  couldn't  imagine  how  he  was  ever 
to  find  his  way  back  to  Lynda,  and  yet  they  would 
have  to  meet — have  to  consider. 

Lynda,  after  leaving  her  workshop,  had  only  one 
desire — she  wanted  Betty  more  than  she  wanted 
anything  else.  She  put  on  her  hat  and  coat  and 
started  headlong  for  her  brother's  apartment  farther 
uptown.  She  felt  she  must  get  there  before  Brace 
arrived  and  lay  her  trouble  before  the  astoundingly 
clear,  unfaltering  mind  and  heart  of  the  little  woman 
who,  so  short  a  time  ago,  had  come  into  their  lives. 
But  after  a  few  blocks,  Lynda's  steps  halted.  If  this 
were  just  her  own  trouble — but  what  trouble  is 
just  one's  own? — 'she  need  not  hesitate;  but  how 
could  she  reveal  what  was  deepest  and  most  unfail- 
ing in  her  soul  to  any  living  person — even  to  Betty 
of  the  unhesitating  vision  ? 

Presently  Lynda  retraced  her  steps.  The  calm 
autumn  night  soothed  and  protected  her.  She 
looked  up  at  the  stars  and  thought  of  the  old  words : 
"Why  so  hot,  little  man,  why  so  hot?"  Why, 
indeed?  And  then  in  the  still  dimness — for  she  had 
turned  into  the  side  streets — she  let  Truedale  come 
into  her  thoughts  to  the  exclusion,  for  the  moment, 
of  her  own  bitter  wrong.  She  looked  back  at  his 
strange,  lonely  boyhood  with  so  little  in  it  that  could 
cause  him  to  view  justly  his  uncle's  last  deed.  She 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  253 

remembered  his  pride  and  struggle — his  reserve  and 
almost  abnormal  sensitiveness.  Then — the  experi- 
ence in  the  mountain!  How  terribly  deep  that  had 
sunk  into  Truedale's  life;  how  unable  he  had  been  to 
see  in  it  any  wrong  but  his  own.  Lynda  had  always 
honoured  him  for  that.  It  had  made  it  possible  for 
her  to  trust  him  absolutely.  She  had  respected  his 
fine  position  and  had  never  blurred  it  by  showing  him 
how  she,  as  a  woman,  could  see  the  erring  on  the 
woman's  part.  No,  she  had  left  Nella-Rose  to  him 
as  his  high-minded  chivalry  had  preserved  her — • 
she  had  dared  do  all  that  because  she  felt  so  secure 
in  the  love  and  sincerity  of  the  present. 

"And  now— what?" 

The  bitterness  was  past.  The  shock  had  left 
her  a  bit  weak  and  helpless  but  she  no  longer  thought 
of  the  human  need  of  Betty.  She  went  home  and 
sat  down  before  the  fire  in  the  library  and  waited 
for  light.  At  ten  o'clock  she  came  to  a  conclusion. 
Truedale  must  decide  this  thing  for  himself!  It  was, 
after  all,  his  great  opportunity.  She  could  not,  with 
honour  and  self-respect,  throw  herself  upon  him  and 
so  complicate  the  misunderstanding.  If  her  life 
with  him  since  June  had  not  convinced  him  of  her 
simple  love  and  faith — her  words,  now,  could  not. 
He  must  seek  her — must  realize  everything.  And 
in  this  decision  Lynda  left  herself  so  stranded  and 
desolate  that  she  looked  up  with  wet  eyes  and  saw 
— William  Truedale's  empty  chair!  A  great  long- 


254  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

ing  for  her  old  friend  rose  in  her  breast — a  longing 
that  not  even  death  had  taken  from  her.  The  clock 
struck  the  half-hour  and  Lynda  got  up  and  with  no 
faltering  went  toward  the  bedroom  door  behind 
which  the  old  man  had  started  forth  on  his  journey 
to  find  peace. 

And  just  as  she  went,  with  blinded  eyes  and  ach- 
ing heart,  to  shut  herself  away  from  the  dreariness 
of  the  present,  Truedale  entered  the  house  and,  from 
the  hall,  watched  her.  He  believed  that  she  had 
heard  him  enter,  he  hoped  she  was  going  to  turn 
toward  him — but  no!  she  went  straight  to  the  never- 
used  room,  shut  the  door,  and — locked  it! 

Truedale  stood  rooted  to  the  spot.  What  he 
had  hoped — what  trusted — he  could  hardly  have  told. 
But  manlike  he  was  the  true  conservative  and  with 
the  turning  of  that  key  his  traditions  and  established 
position  crumbled  around  him.  % 

Lynda  and  he  were  married  and,  unless  they  de- 
cided upon  an  open  break,  they  must  live  their 
lives.  But  the  turning  of  the  key  seemed  to  pro- 
claim to  the  whole  city  a  new  dispensation.  A 
declaration  of  independence  that  spurned — tradi- 
tion. 

For  a  moment  Truedale  was  angry,  unsettled,  and 
outraged.  He  strode  into  the  room  with  stern  eyes;  he 
walked  half  way  to  the  closed — and  locked — door;  he 
gazed  upon  it  as  if  it  were  a  tangible  foe  which  he  might 
overcome  and,  by  so  doing,  reestablish  the  old  ideals. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  255 

Then — and  it  was  the  saving  grace — Truedale  smiled 
grimly.  "To  be  sure,"  he  muttered.  "Of  course!" 
and  turned  to  his  room  under  the  eaves. 

But  the  following  day  had  to  be  faced.  There 
were  several  things  that  had  to  be  dealt  with  besides 
the  condition  arising  from  the  locking  of  the  door  of 
William  Truedale's  room. 

Conning  battled  with  this  fact  nearly  all  night, 
little  realizing  that  Lynda  was  feeling  her  way  to 
the  same  conclusion  in  the  quiet  room  below. 

"I'm  not  beaten,  Uncle  William,"  she  whispered, 
kneeling  beside  the  bed.  "If  I  could  only  see  how 
to  meet  to-morrow  I  would  be  all  right." 

And  then  a  queer  sort  of  comfort  came  to  her. 
The  humour  with  which  her  old  friend  would  have 
viewed  the  situation  pervaded  the  room,  bringing 
strength  with  it. 

"I  know,"  she  confided  to  the  darkness  in  which 
the  old  man  seemed  present,  in  a  marvellously  real 
way,  "I  know  I  love  Conning.  A  make-believe 
love  couldn't  stand  this — but  the  true  thing  can. 
And  he  loves  me  !  I  know  it  through  and  through. 
The  other  love  of  his  wasn't — what  this  is.  But  he 
must  find  this  out  for  himself.  I've  always  been 
close  when  he  needed  me;  he  must  come  to  me  now— 
for  his  sake  even  more  than  for  mine.  I  am  de- 
serving of  that,  am  I  not,  Uncle  William?" 

The  understanding  friendship  did  not  fail  the  girl 
kneeling  by  the  empty  bed.  It  seemed  to  come 


256  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

through  the  rays  of  moonlight  and  rest  like  a  helpful 
touch  upon  her. 

"Little -mother!" — and  in  her  soul  Lynda  believed 
William  Truedale  and  her  mother  had  come  together 

"little  mother,  you  did  your  best  without  love; 
I  will  do  mine — with  it!  And  now  I  am  going  to 
bed  and  I  am  going  to  sleep. " 

The  next  morning  Truedale  and  Lynda  were 
both  so  precipitate  about  attacking  the  situation  that 
they  nearly  ran  into  each  other  at  the  dining-room 
door.  They  both  had  the  grace  to  laugh.  Then 
they  talked  of  the  work  at  hand  for  the  morning. 

"I  have  a  studio  to  evolve,"  Lynda  said,  passing 
a  slice  of  toast  to  Truedale  from  the  electric  contri- 
vance before  her,  "a  woman  wants  a  studio,  she 
feels  it  will  be  an  inspiration.  She's  a  nice  little 
society  woman  who  is  bored  to  death.  She's  written 
an  article  or  two  for  a  fashion  paper  and  she  believes 
she  has  discovered  herself.  I  wish  I  knew  what  to 
put  in  the  place.  She'd  scorn  the  real  thing  and  I 
hate  to  compromise  when  it  comes  to  such  things. 
And  you,  Con,  what  have  you  that  must  be  done?" 

Truedale  looked  at  her  earnestly.  "I  must  meet 
the  lawyer  and  McPherson,"  he  said,  "but  may  I 
come — for  a  talk,  Lyn,  afterward?" 

"I  shall  be  in  my  workshop  all  day,  Con,  until 
dinner  time  to-night." 

The  day  was  a  hard  one  for  them  both,  but  woman- 
like Lynda  accepted  it  and  came  to  its  close  with 


"Do  you  think  I  am  the  sort  of  girl  who  would  sell 
herself  for  anything — even  for  the  justice  I  might  think 
was  yours?" 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  257 

less  show  of  wear  and  tear  than  did  Truedale.  She 
was  restless  and  nervous.  She  worked  conscien- 
tiously until  three  and  accomplished  something  in  the 
difficult  task  the  society  woman  had  entrusted  her 
with;  then  she  went  to  her  bedroom  and,  removing 
every  sign  of  her  craft,  donned  a  pretty  house  dress 
and  went  back  to  her  shop.  She  meant  to  give 
Truedale  every  legitimate  assistance,  but  she  was 
never  prouder  or  firmer  in  her  life.  She  called  the 
dogs  and  the  cats  in;  she  set  the  small  tea  table  by 
the  hearth  and  lighted  just  fire  enough  to  take  the 
chill  from  the  room  and  yet  leave  it  sweet  and 
fresh. 

At  five  there  was  a  tap  on  the  door. 

"Just  in  time,  Con,  for  the  tea,"  she  called  and 
welcomed  him  in. 

To  find  her  so  calm,  cheerful,  and  lovely,  was  some- 
thing of  a  shock  to  Truedale.  Had  she  been  in 
tears,  or,  had  she  shown  any  trace  of  the  suffering  he 
had  endured,  he  would  have  taken  her  in  his  arms 
and  relegated  the  unfortunate  money  to  the  scrap- 
heap  of  non-essentials.  But  the  scene  upon  which 
he  entered  had  the  effect  of  chilling  him  and  bringing 
back  the  displeasing  thought  of  Lynda's  sacrifice. 

"Have  you  had  a  hard  day,  Con?" 

"Yes." 

"Drink  the  tea,  and — let  me  see,  you  like  bread 
and  butter,  don't  you,  instead  of  cakes?" 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment  while  they  sipped 


258  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

the  hot  tea.  Then,  raising  their  eyes,  they  looked 
suddenly  at  each  other. 

"Lyn,  I  cannot  do  without  you!" 

She  coloured  deeply.  She  knew  he  did  not  mean 
to  be  selfish — but  he  was. 

"You  would  be  willing  even  to — accept  my  sacri- 
fice?" she  asked  so  softly  that  he  did  not  note  the 
yearning  in  the  tones — the  beseeching  of  him  to 
abdicate  the  position  that,  for  her,  was  untenable. 

"Anything — anything,  Lynda.  The  day  without 
you  has  been — hell.  We'll  get  rid  of  the  money 
somehow.  Now  that  we  both  know  how  little  it 
means,  we'll  begin  again  and — free  from  Uncle 

William's  wrong  conceptions — Lyn "  He  put 

his  cup  down  and  rose  quickly. 

"Wait!"  she  whispered,  shrinking  back  into  her 
low  armchair  and  holding  him  off  by  her  smile  of 
detachment  more  than  by  her  word  of  command. 

"I — I  cannot  face  life  without  you,"  Truedale 
spoke  hoarsely,  "I  never  really  had  to  contemplate 
it  before.  I  need  you — must  have  you." 

He  came  a  step  nearer,  but  Lynda  shook  her  head. 

"Something  has  happened  to  us,  Con  Something 
rather  tremendous.  We  must  not  bungle." 

"One  thing  looms  high.     Only  one,  Lyn." 

"Many  things  do,  Con.  They  have  been  crowd- 
ing thick  around  me  all  day.  There  are  worse  things 
than  losing  each  other!" 

"No!"  Truedale  denied,  vehemently. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  259 

"Yes.  We  could  lose  ourselves!  This  thing 
that  makes  you  fling  aside  what  went  before,  this 
thing  that  makes  me  long — oh!  how  I  long,  Con — • 
to  come  to  you  and  forget,  this  thing — what  is  it? 
It  is  the  holiest  thing  we  know,  and  unless  we  guard 
it  sacredly  we  shall  hurt  and  kill  it  and  then,  by  and 
by,  Con,  we  shall  look  at  each  other  with  frightened 
eyes — over  a  dead,  dead  love." 

"Lynda,  how — can  you?  How  dare  you  say 
these  things  when  you  confess Oh !  my — wife ! " 

"Because" — and  she  seemed  withdrawing  from 
Truedale  as  he  advanced — "because  I  have  con- 
fessed! You  and  I,  Con,  have  reached  to-day,  by 
different  routes,  the  most  important  and  vital  prob- 
lem. All  my  life  I  have  been  pushing  doors  open 
as  I  came  along.  Sometimes  I  have  only  peered  in 
and  hurried  on;  sometimes  I  have  stayed  and  learned 
a  lesson.  It  will  always  be  so  with  me.  I  must 
know.  I  think  you  are  willing  not  to  know  unless 
you  are  forced." 

Truedale  winced  and  went  back  slowly  to  his  chair. 

"Con,  dear,  unless  you  wish  it  otherwise,  I  want, 
as  far  as  possible,  to  begin  from  to-day  and  find  out 
just  how  much  we  do  mean  to  each  other.  Let  us 
push  open  the  doors  ahead  until  we  make  sure  we 
both  want  the  same  abiding  place.  Should  you 
find  a  spot  better,  safer  for  you  than  this  that  we 
thought  we  knew,  I  will  never  hold  you  by  a  look  or 
word,  dear." 


26o  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"And  you — Lyn?"  Truedale's  voice  shook. 

"For  myself  I  ask  the  same  privilege." 

"You  mean  that  we — live  together,  yet  apart?" 

"Unless  you  will  it  otherwise,  dear.  In  that  case., 
we  will  close  this  door  and  say — good-bye,  now." 

Her  strength,  her  tenderness,  unmanned  Truedale. 
Again  he  felt  that  call  upon  him  which  she  had  in- 
spired the  night  of  his  confession.  Again  he  rallied 
to  defend  her — from  her  own  pitiless  sense  of  honour. 

"By  heaven!"  he  cried.  "It  shall  not  be  good- 
bye. I  will  accept  your  terms,  live  up  to  them,  and 
dare  the  future." 

"Good,    old   Con!     And    now,    please,    dear,    go. 
I  think — I  think  I  am  going  to  cry — a  little  and  "- 
she  looked  up  quiveringly — "I  mustn't  have  red  eyes 
at    dinner    time.      Brace    and    Betty    are    coming. 
Thank  heaven,  Con,  Betty  will  make  us  laugh." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

HAVING  agreed  upon  this  period  of  probation 
both  Lynda  and  Truedale  entered  upon  it 
with  characteristic  determination.  There 
were  times  when  Conning  dejectedly  believed  that 
no  woman  could  act  as  Lynda  was  doing,  if  she  loved 
a  man.  No,  it  was  not  in  woman's  power  to  forego 
all  Lynda  was  foregoing  if  she  loved  deeply.  Not 
that  Lynda  could  be  said  to  be  cold  or  indifferent; 
she  had  never  been  sweeter,  truer;  but  she  was  so 
amazingly  serene! 

Perhaps  she  was  content,  having  secured  his  rights 
for  him,  to  go  on  and  be  thankful  that  so  little  was 
actually  exacted  from  her. 

But  such  reasoning  eventually  shamed  Truedale, 
and  he  acknowledged  that  there  was  something  su- 
perb in  a  woman  who,  while  still  loving  2  man,  was 
able  to  withhold  herself  from  him  until  both  he  and 
she  had  sounded  the  depths  of  their  natures. 

In  this  state  of  mind  Truedale  devoted  himself  to 
business,  and  Lynda,  with  a  fresh  power  that  sur- 
prised even  herself,  resumed  her  own  tasks. 

"And  this  is  love"  she  often  thought  to  herself, 
"it  is  the  real  thing.  Some  women  think  they  have 
love  when  love  has  them.  This  beautiful,  tangible 

261 


262  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

something  that  is  making  even  these  days  sacred 
has  proved  itself.  I  can  rely  upon  it — lean  heavily 
upon  it." 

Sometimes  she  wondered  what  she  was  waiting  for. 
Often  she  feared,  in  her  sad  moments,  that  it  might 
last  forever — be  accepted  this  poor  counterfeit  for  the 
real — and  the  full  glory  escape  her  and  Truedale. 

But  at  her  best  she  knew  what  she  was  waiting 
for — what  was  coming.  It  was  something  that, 
driving  all  else  away,  would  carry  her  and  Conning 
together  without  reservations  or  doubts.  They 
would  know  !  He  would  know  the  master  passion 
of  his  life;  she,  that  she  could  count  all  lost  unless 
she  made  his  life  complete  and  so  crown  her  own. 

The  money  was  never  mentioned.  In  good  and 
safe  investments  it  lay,  awaiting  a  day,  so  Truedale 
told  McPherson,  when  it  could  be  got  rid  of  without 
dishonour  or  disgrace. 

"But,  good  heavens!  haven't  you  any  personal 
ambitions — you  and  Lynda?"  McPherson  had 
learned  to  admire  Conning,  and  Lynda  had  always 
been  one  of  his  private  inspirations. 

"None  that  Lynda  and  I  cannot  supply  ourselves," 
Truedale  replied.  "To  have  our  work,  and  the 
necessity  for  our  work,  taken  from  us  would  be  no 
advantage." 

"But  haven't  you  a  duty  to  the  money?" 

"Yes,  we  have,  and  I'm  trying  to  find  out  just 
what  ic  is." 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  263 

And  living  this  strange,  abnormal  life — often 
wondering  why,  and  fearing  much — three,  then  four 
years,  passed  them  by. 

It  is  one  thing  for  two  proud,  sensitive  natures  to 
enter  upon  a  deliberate  course,  and  quite  another 
for  them  to  abandon  it  when  the  supposed  need 
is  past.  There  was  now  no  doubt  in  Truedale's  heart 
concerning  Lynda's  motive  for  marrying  him;  nor 
did  Lynda  for  one  moment  question  Truedale's 
deep  affection  for  her.  Yet  they  waited — quite  sub- 
consciously at  first,  then  with  tragic  stubbornness — 
for  something  to  sweep  obstacles  aside  without  either 
surrendering  his  position. 

"He  must  want  me  so  that  nothing  can  sway  him 
again,"  thought  Lynda. 

"She  must  know  that  my  love  for  her  can  endure 
anything — even  this!"  argued  Conning,  and  his 
stand  was  better  taken  than  hers  as  she  was  to  find 
out  one  day. 

It  seemed  enough,  in  the  beginning,  to  live  their 
lives  close  and  confidentially — to  feel  the  tie  of  de- 
pendence that  held  them;  but  the  knot  cut  in  deep 
at  times  and  they  suffered  in  foolish  but  proud  silence. 

Many  things  occurred  during  those  years  that 
widened  the  horizon  for  them  all.  Betty's  first 
child  came  and  went,  almost  taking  the  life  of  the 
young  mother  with  it.  Before  the  possible  calamity 
Brace  stood  appalled,  and  both  Conning  and  Lynda 
realized  how  true  a  note  the  girl  was  in  their  lives. 


264  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

She  seemed  to  belong  to  them  in  a  sense  stronger 
than  blood  could  have  made  her.  They  could  not 
imagine  life  without  her  sunny  companionship. 
Never  were  they  to  forget  the  grim  dreariness  of  the 
once  cheerful  apartment  during  those  days  and 
nights  when  Death  hovered  near,  weighing  the 
chances.  But  Betty  recovered  and  came  back  with 
a  yearning  look  in  her  eyes  that  had  never  been  there 
before. 

"You  see,"  she  confided  to  Lynda,  "there  will 
always  be  moments  when  I  must  listen  to  hear  if  my 
baby  is  calling.  At  times,  Lyn,  it  seems  as  if  he 
were  just  on  ahead — keeping  me  from  forgetting.  It 
doesn't  make  me  sad,  dear,  it's  really  beautiful  that 
he  didn't  quite  escape  me." 

"And  do  you  go  to  The  Refuge  to  think  and  look 
and  listen?"  Lynda  asked.  For  they  all  worried 
now  when  Betty  betook  herself  to  the  little  house. 

"Not  much!"  And  here  Betty  twinkled.  "I  go 
there  to  meet  Betty  Arnold  face  to  face,  and  ask  her 
if  she  would  rather  trade  back.  And  then  I  come 
trotting  home,  almost  out  of  breath,  to  precious  old 
Brace;  I'm  so  afraid  he  won't  know  he's  still  the 
one  big  thing  in  the  world  for  me." 

This  little  child  of  Betty's  and  Brace's  had  made 
a  deep  impression  upon  them  all.  It  had  lived  only 
three  days  and  while  it  stayed  the  black  shadow  hang- 
ing over  the  mother  had  made  the  baby  seem  of  less 
account;  but  later,  they  all  recalled  the  pretty,  soft 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  265 

mite  with  the  strange,  old  look  in  its  wide  eyes.  He 
had  been  beautiful  as  babies  who  are  not  going  to 
stay  often  are.  There  were  to  be  no  years  for  him  to 
change  and  grow  and  so  loveliness  came  with  him. 

"I  reckon  the  little  chap  thought  we  didn't  want 
him, "  Brace  choked  as  he  spoke  over  the  small,  cold 
body  of  his  first-born,  "so  he  turned  back  home  before 
he  forgot  the  way." 

"Don't,  brother!"  Lynda  pleaded  as  she  stood 
with  Truedale  beside  him.  "You  know  the  way 
home  might  have  been  longer  and  harder,  by  and  by." 

"I  wish  Betty  and  I  might  have  helped  to  make 
it  easier;  for  a  time,  anyway."  The  eternal  revolt 
against  seemingly  useless  suffering  rang  in  the  words. 

And  that  night  Truedale  had  kissed  Lynda  lin- 
geringly. 

"Such  things,"  he  said,  referring  to  the  day's  sad 
duties,  "such  things  do  drag  people  together." 

After  that  something  new  throbbed  in  their  lives 
— something  that  had  not  held  sway  before.  If 
Betty  looked  and  listened  for  the  little  creature  who 
had  gone  on  ahead,  Lynda  listened  and  looked  into 
what  had  been  a  void  in  her  life  before 

She  had  always  loved  children  in  a  kindly,  detached 
way,  but  she  had  never  appropriated  them.  But 
now  she  could  not  forget  the  feeling  of  that  small, 
downy  head  that  for  a  day  or  so  nestled  on  her  breast 
while  the  young  mother's  feet  all  but  slipped  over  the 
brink.  She  remembered  the  strange  look  in  the 


266  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

child's  deep  eyes  the  night  it  died.  The  lonely,  aged 
look  that,  in  passing,  seemed  trying  to  fix  one  familiar 
object.  And  when  the  dim  light  went  out  in  the 
little  face  and  only  a  dead  baby  lay  in  her  arms, 
maternity  had  been  called  forth  from  its  slumber 
and  in  following  Betty's  child,  became  vitalized  and 
definite. 

"I — I  think  I  shall  adopt  a  child."  So  she  had 
thought  while  the  cold  little  head  yet  lay  in  the  hollow 
of  her  arm.  She  never  let  go  this  thought  and  only 
hesitated  before  voicing  it  to  Truedale  because  she 
feared  he  could  not  understand  and  might  cruelly 
misunderstand.  Life  was  hard  enough  and  difficult 
enough  for  them  both  just  then,  and  often,  coming 
into  the  quiet  home  at  the  day's  end,  Lynda  would 
say,  to  cheer  her  faint  heart: 

"Oh,  well,  it's  really  like  coming  to  a  hearth 
upon  which  the  fire  is  not  yet  kindled.  But,  thank 
heaven!  it  is  a  clean  hearth,  not  cluttered  with  ashes 
— it  is  ready  for  the  fire." 

But  was  it?  More  and  more  as  the  time  went  on 
and  Truedale  kept  his  faith  and  walked  his  way  near 
hers — oh!  they  were  thankful  for  that — but  still 
apart,  Lynda  wondered.  It  was  all  so  futile,  so 
utterly  selfish  and  childish — yet  neither  spoke. 
Then  suddenly  came  the  big  thing  that  drove  them 
together  and  swept  aside  all  the  barrier  of  rubbish  they 
had  erected.  Like  many  great  and  portentous 
things  it  seemed  very  like  the  still,  small  voice 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  267 

in  the  burning  bush — the  tiny  star  in  the  black 
night. 

Truedale  had  had  an  enlightening  conversation 
with  McPherson  in  the  afternoon.  The  old  doctor 
was  really  a  soft-hearted  sentimentalist  and  occa- 
sionally he  laid  himself  bare  to  the  eye  of  some 
trustworthy  friend.  This  time  it  was  Truedale. 

Up  and  down  the  plain,  businesslike  office  McPher- 
son was  tramping  when  Conning  was  announced. 

"Oh!  come  in,  come  in!"  called  McPherson. 
"You  can  better  understand  this  than  some.  I've 
had  a  devil  of  a  day.  One  confounded  thing  after 
another  to  take  the  soul  out  of  me.  And  now  this 
letter  from  old  Jim  White!" 

Conning  started.  It  had  now  been  years  since 
Pine  Cone  had  touched  his  thought  sharply. 

"What's  the  matter  with  White?"  he  asked. 

"Look  out  of  the  window!" 

Truedale  did  so,  and  into  the  wall-like  snow  which 
had  been  falling  all  day. 

''They've  been  having  that  in  the  mountains 
for  weeks.  Trails  blotted  out,  folk  hiding  like 
beasts,  and  that  good  old  chap,  White,  took  this  time 
to  break  his  leg.  There  he  lay  for  a  whole  week, 
damn  it  all!  Two  of  his  dogs  died — he,  himself, 
almost  starved.  Managed  to  crawl  to  the  food 
while  there  was  any,  and  then  some  one  ploughed 
through  to  get  Jim  to  organize  a  hanging  or  some 
other  trifling  thing,  and  found  him!  Good  Lord, 


268  THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 

Truedale,  what  they  need  down  there  is  roads!  roads! 
Roads  over  which  folk  can  travel  to  one  another 
and  become  human.  That's  all  the  world  needs 
anyway !""  Here  McPherson  stopped  in  front  of 
Truedale  and  glared  as  if  about  to  put  the  blame  of 
impeded  traffic  up  to  him.  "  Roads  over  which  folk 
can  travel  to  one  another.  See  here,  you're  look- 
ing for  some  excuse  to  get  rid  of  your  damned  money. 
Why  don't  you  build  roads?" 

"Roads?"  Truedale  did  not  know  whether  to 
laugh  or  take  his  man  seriously. 

"Yes,  roads.  I'm  going  down  to  Jim.  I  haven't 
much  money;  I've  made  a  good  deal,  but  somehow 
I  never  seem  able  to  be  caught  with  the  goods  on 
me.  But  what  little  I've  got  now  goes  to  Jim  for  the 
purpose  of  forging  a  connecting  link  between  him 
and  the  Centre.  But  here's  a  job  for  you.  You 
can  grasp  this  need.  I've  got  a  boy  in  the  hospital; 
he  caved  in  from  over-study.  Trying  to  get  an 
education  while  starving  himself  to  death  and 
doing  without  underclothes.  You  ought  to  know 
how  to  hew  a  short  cut  to  him,  Truedale;  you  did 
some  hacking  through  underbrush  yourself.  If  I 
didn't  believe  folk  would  travel  to  one  another  over 
roads,  if  there  were  roads,  I'd  go  out  and  cut  my 
throat." 

The  big  man,  troubled  and  as  full  of  sympathy 
as  a  tender  woman,  paused  in  his  strides  and  ejacu- 
lated: 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  269 

"Damn  it  all,  Truedale!"  Had  he  been  a  woman 
he  would  have  dissolved  in  tears. 

Truedale  at  last  caught  his  meaning.  Here  was 
a  possible  chance  to  set  the  accumulating  money 
free.  For  two  hours,  while  the  sun  travelled  down 
to  the  west,  the  men  talked  over  plans  and  projects. 

"Of  course  I'll  look  after  the  boy  in  the  hospital, 
Dr.  McPherson.  I  know  the  short  cut  to  him  and 
he  probably  can  lead  me  to  others,  but  I  want" — • 
and  here  Truedale's  eyes  grew  gloomy — "I  want 
you  to  take  with  you  down  to  Pine  Cone  some 
checks  signed  in  blank.  I  know  the  need  of  roads 
down  there,"  did  he  not?  and  for  an  instant  his 
brows  grew  furrowed  as  he  reflected  how  different 
his  own  life  might  have  been,  had  travelling  been 
easy,  back  in  the  time  when  he  was  at  the  mercy  of 
the  storm. 

"I'd  like  to  do  something  for  Pine  Cone. 
Make  the  roads,  of  course,  but  back  up  those  men 
and  women  who  are  doing  God's  work  down  there 
with  little  help  or  money.  They  know  the  people 
— Jim  has  explained  them  to  me.  They're  not 
'extry  polite,'  Jim  says,  but  they  understand  the 
needs.  I  don't  care  to  have  my  name  known — 
I'm  rather  poor  stuff  for  a  philanthropist — but  I 
want  to  do  something  as  a  starter,  and  this  seems  an 
inspiration." 

McPherson  had  been  listening,  and  gradually  his 
long  strides  became  less  nervous. 


270  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"Until  to-day,  I  haven't  wished  your  uncle  back, 
Truedale,  since  he  went.  He  was  a  poor,  inarticulate 
fellow,  but  I've  learned  to  realize  that  he  had  a  wide 
vision." 

"Thank  you,  Dr.  McPherson,  but  I  have  often 
wished  him  back." 

Once  outside  McPherson's  house,  Truedale  raised 
his  head  and  sniffed  the  clear,  winter  air  with  keen 
enjoyment.  A  sense  of  achievement  possessed  him; 
the  joy  of  feeling  he  had  solved  a  knotty  problem. 
He  found  he  could  think  of  Pine  Cone — and,  yes, 
of  Nella-Rose — without  a  hurting  smart.  He  was 
going  to  do  something  for  her — for  her  people!  He 
was  going  to  make  life  easier — happier — for  them, 
so  he  prayed  in  his  silent,  wordless  way.  He  had  a 
new  and  strange  impulse  to  go  to  Lynda  and  tell 
her  that  at  last  he  was  released  from  any  hold  of 
the  past.  He  was  going  to  do  what  he  could  and 
there  was  no  longer  any  dragging  of  the  anchors. 
He  wanted  her  to  help  him — to  work  out  some  ques- 
tions from  the  woman's  point  of  view.  So  he  hurried 
on  and  entered  the  house  with  a  light,  boyish  step. 

Thomas,  bent  but  stately,  was  laying  the  table 
in  the  cheerful  dining  room.  There  were  flowers 
in  a  deep  green  bowl,  pale  golden  asters. 

Long  afterward  Truedale  recalled  everything  as  if 
it  had  been  burned  in  his  mind. 

"Is  Miss  Lynda  in?"  he  asked,  for  they  all  clung 
to  the  titles  of  the  old  days. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  271 

"Not  yet,  Mister  Con.  She  went  out  in  a  deal 
of  a  hurry  long  about  three  o'clock.  She  didn't  say 
a  word — and  that's  agin  her  pleasant  fashion — so 
I  took  it  that  she  had  business  that  fretted  her.  She's 
been  in  the  workshop  all  day."  Thomas  put  the 
plates  in  place.  They  were  white  china,  with  delicate 
gold  edges.  "Hum!  hum!  Mister  Con,  your  uncle 
used  to  say,  when  he  felt  talkative,  that  Miss  Lynda 
ought  to  have  some  one  to  hold  her  back  when  she 
took  to  running. " 

"I'll  look  her  up,  Thomas!" 

Conning  went  up  to  the  workshop  and  turned 
on  the  electricity.  A  desolate  sensation  overcame 
the  exhilaration  of  the  afternoon.  Lynda  seemed 
strangely,  ominously  distant — as  if  she  had  gone 
upon  a  long,  long  journey. 

There  was  a  dying  fire  on  the  hearth  and 
the  room  was  in  order  except  for  the  wide  table 
upon  which  still  lay  the  work  Lynda  had  been  en- 
gaged with  before  she  left  the  house. 

Truedale  sat  down  before  it  and  gradually  be- 
came absorbed,  while  not  really  taking  in  the  mean- 
ing of  what  he  saw.  He  had  often  studied  and  ap- 
preciated Lynda's  original  way  of  solving  her  prob- 
lems. It  was  not  enough  for  her  to  place  upon  paper 
the  designs  her  trained  talent  evolved;  she  always, 
as  she  put  it,  lived  in  the  rooms  she  conceived. 
Here  were  real  furniture — diminutive,  but  perfect, 
and  real  hangings — colour  and  form  ideal,  and  ar- 


272  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

ranged  so  that  they  could  be  shifted  in  order  that 
light  effects  might  be  tested. 

It  was  no  wonder  Truedale  had  often  re- 
marked that  Lynda's  work  was  so  individual  and 
personal — she  breathed  the  breath  of  life  in  it  be- 
fore she  let  it  go  from  her.  Truedale  had  always 
been  thankful  that  marriage  had  not  taken  from 
Lynda  her  joy  in  her  profession.  He  would  have 
hated  to  know  that  he  interfered  with  so  real  and 
vital  a  gift. 

But  this  room  upon  which  he  was  now  looking 
was  different  from  anything  he  had  ever  before  seen 
in  the  workshop.  It  interested  and  puzzled  him. 

Lynda's  specialties  were  libraries  and  living  rooms; 
there  were  two  or  three  things  she  never  attempted— 
and  this?  Truedale  looked  closer.  How  pretty  it 
was — like  a  child's  playroom — and  how  fanciful! 
There  was  a  fireplace  off  in  a  corner,  before  which 
stood  a  screen  with  a  most  benign  goblin  warning 
away,  with  spread  claws,  any  heedless,  toddling 
feet.  The  broad  window-seats  might  serve  as  boxes 
for  childish  treasure.  There  were  delectable,  wee 
chairs  and  conveniently  low  stools;  there  was  a  tiny 
bed  set  in  a  dim  corner  over  which,  on  a  protecting 
shield,  angels  with  folded  wings  and  rapt  faces  were 
outlined. 

"Why,  this  must  be  a — nursery!"  Truedale  ex- 
claimed half  aloud;  "and  she  said  she  would  never 
design  one." 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  273 

Clearly  he  recalled  Lynda's  reason.  "If  a  father 
and  a  mother  cannot  conceive  and  carry  out  the 
needs  of  a  nursery,  they  do  not  deserve  one.  I  could 
never  bring  myself  to  intrude  there." 

"What  does  this  mean?"  Truedale  bent  closer. 
The  table  had  been  painted  white  to  serve  as  a 
floor  for  the  dainty  setting,  and  now,  as  he  looked 
he  saw  stains — dark,  tell-tale  stains  on  the  shining 
surface. 

They  were  tear-stains;  Lynda,  who  so  joyously 
put  her  heart  and  soul  in  the  ideals  for  other  homes, 
had  wept  over  the  nursery  of  another  woman's 
child! 

For  some  reason  Truedale  was  that  day  par- 
ticularly open  to  impression.  As  he  sat  with  the 
toy-like  emblems  before  him,  the  holiest  and  strong- 
est things  of  life  seized  upon  him  with  terrific  mean- 
ing. He  drew  out  his  watch  and  saw  that  it  was  the 
dinner  hour  and  the  still  house  proved  that  the  mis- 
tress was  yet  absent. 

"  There  is  only  one  person  to  whom  she  would 
go,"  he  murmured.  "I'll  go  to  Betty's  and  bring 
Lynda  home. " 

He  made  an  explanation  to  Thomas  that  covered 
the  situation. 

"I  found  what  the  trouble  was,  Thomas,"  he 
said.  "It  will  be  all  right  when  we  get  back.  But 
don't  keep  dinner." 

He  took  a  cab  to  Brace's.     He  was  too  distraught 


274  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

to  put  himself  on  exhibition  in  a  public  conveyance. 
Brace  sat  in  lonely  but  apparently  contented  state 
at  the  head  of  his  table. 

"Bully  for  you,  old  man,"  he  greeted.  "You 
were  never  more  welcome.  I'll  have  a  plate  put 
on  for  you  at  once.  What's  the  matter?  You 
look- 

" Ken,  where's  Betty?" 

"Run  away  to  herself,  Con.  Went  yesterday. 
Goes  less  and  less  often,  but  she  cut  yesterday." 

"Has — has  Lynda  been  here  to-day?" 

"Yes.  About  three.  When  she  found  Betty 
gone,  she  wouldn't  stay.  Sit  down,  old  man.  You'll 
learn,  as  I  have,  to  appreciate  Lyn  more  if  she  isn't 
always  where  we  men  have  thought  women  ought  to 
be." 

Truedale  sat  down  opposite  Kendall  but  said  he 
would  take  only  a  cup  of  coffee.  When  it  was 
finished  he  rose,  more  steadily,  and  said  quietly: 

"I  know  it's  unwritten  law,  Ken,  that  we  shouldn't 
follow  Betty  up  without  an  invitation;  but  I've 
got  to  go  over  there  to-night." 

"It's  dangerous,  old  man.  I  advise  against  it. 
What's  up?" 

"I  must  see  Lyn.     I  believe  she  is  there." 

"Rather  a  large-sized  misunderstanding?" 

"I  hope,  Ken,  God  helping  me,  it's  going  to  be 
the  biggest  understanding  Lynda  and  I  have  ever 
had" 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  275 

Kendall  was  impressed — and,  consequently,  silent. 

"I'm  sure  Betty  will  forgive  me.     Good-night. " 

"Good-night,  old  chap,  and — and  whatever  it  is, 
I  fancy  it  will  come  out  all  right." 

And  then,  into  the  night  Truedale  plunged— 
determined  to  master  the  absurd  situation  that 
both  he  and  Lynda  had  permitted  to  exist.  He 
felt  like  a  man  who  had  been  suffering  in  a  night- 
mare and  had  just  awakened  and  shaken  off  the  effect 
of  the  unholy  dream. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

EDA,  that  winter  day,  had  undertaken  her 
task  with  unwonted  energy.  She  had  never 
done  a  similar  piece  of  work  before.  In  her 
early  beginning  she  had  rather  despised  the  in- 
adequacy of  women  who,  no  matter  what  might  be 
said  in  defense  of  their  ignorance  regarding  the  rest 
of  their  homes,  did  not  know  how  to  design  and 
plan  their  own  nurseries.  Later  she  had  eliminated 
designing  of  this  kind  because  so  few  asked  for  it, 
and  it  did  not  pay  to  put  much  time  on  study  in 
preparation  for  the  rare  occasions  when  nurseries 
were  included  in  the  orders.  But  this  was  an  ex- 
ception. A  woman  who  had  lost  three  children  was 
expecting  the  fourth,  and  she  had  come  to  Lynda 
with  a  touching  appeal. 

"You  helped  make  a  home  of  my  house,  Mrs. 
Truedale,  but  I  always  managed  the  nursery — myself 
before;  now  I  cannot.  I  want  you  to  put  joy  and 
welcome  in  it  for  me.  If  I  were  to  undertake  it 
I  should  fail  miserably,  and  evolve  only  gloom 
and  fear.  It  will  be  different — afterward.  But 
you  understand  and — you  will  ? " 

Lynda  had  understood  and  had  set  herself  to 
her  work  with  the  new,  happy  insight  that  Betty's 

276 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  277 

little  baby  had  made  possible.  It  had  all  gone  well 
until  the  "sleeping  corner"  was  reached,  and  then 
— something  happened.  A  memory  of  one  of 
Betty's  confessions  started  it.  "Lyn,"  she  had 
said,  just  before  her  baby  came,  "I  kneel  by  this 
small,  waiting  crib  and  pray — as  only  mothers 
know  how  to  pray — and  God  teaches  them  afresh 
every  time!  I  do  so  want  to  be  worthy  of  the  con- 
fidence of — God." 

"And  I — am  never  to  know!"  Lynda  bowed 
her  head.  "I  with  my  love — with  my  desire  to  hear 
God  speak — am  never  to  hear.  Why?" 

Then  it  was  that  Lynda  wept.  Wept  first  from 
a  desolate  sense  of  defeat;  then — and  God  sometimes 
speaks  to  women  kneeling  beside  the  beds  of  chil- 
dren not  their  own — she  raised  her  head  and  trem- 
bled at  the  flood  of  joy  that  overcame  her.  It  was 
like  a  mirage,  seen  in  another  woman's  world,  of 
her  own  blessed  heritage. 

Filled  with  this  vision  she  had  fled  to  Betty's, 
only  to  find  that  Betty  had  fled  on  her  own  account! 

There  was  no  moment  of  indecision;  welcome 
or  not,  Lynda  had  to  reach  Betty — and  at  once! 

She  had  tarried,  after  setting  her  face  to  the  river. 
She  even  stopped  at  a  quiet  little  tea  room  and  ate  a 
light  meal.  Then  she  waited  until  the  throng  of  busi- 
ness men  had  crossed  the  ferry  to  their  homes.  It  was 
quite  dark  when  she  reached  the  wooded  spot  where, 
hidden  deep  among  the  trees,  was  Betty's  retreat. 


278  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

There  was  a  light  in  the  house — the  living  room 
faced  the  path — and  through  the  uncurtained  win- 
dow Lynda  saw  Betty  sitting  before  the  fire  with 
her  little  dog  upon  her  lap. 

"Oh,  Betty,"  she  whispered,  stretching  her  arms 
out  to  the  lonely  little  figure  in  the  low,  deep  chair. 
"Betty!  Betty!"  She  waited  a  moment,  then  she 
tapped  lightly  upon  the  glass.  The  dog  sprang  to 
the  floor,  its  sharp  ears  twitching,  but  he  did  not 
bark.  Betty  came  to  the  door  and  stood  in  the  warm, 
lighted  space  with  arms  extended.  She  knew  no 
fear,  there  was  only  doubt  upon  her  face. 

"Lyn,  is  it  you?" 

"  Yes !    How  did  you  guess  ? " 

"All  day  I've  been  thinking  about  you — wanting 
you.  Sometimes  I  can  bring  people  that  way." 

"And  I  have  wanted  you!  Betty,  may  I  stay — 
to-night?" 

"Why,  yes,  dear.  Stay  until  you  want  to  go 
home.  Fve  been  pulling  myself  together;  I'm  al- 
most ready  to  go  back  to  Brace.  Come  in!  Why 
—what  is  it,  dear?  Come,  let  me  take  off  your 
things!  There!  Now  lie  back  in  the  chair  and 
tell  Betty  all  about  it." 

"No,  no!  Betty,  I  want  to  sit  so — at  your  feet. 
I  want  to  learn  all  that  you  can  teach  me.  You 
have  never  had  your  eyes  blinded — or  you  would 
know  how  the  light  hurts." 

"Well,  then.     Put  your  blessed,  tired  head  on  my 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST  279 

knee.  You're  my  little  girl  to-night,  Lyn,  and  I 
am  your — mother." 

For  a  moment  Lynda  cried  as  a  child  might  who 
had  reached  safety  at  last.  Betty  did  not  check  or 
soothe  the  heavy  sobs — she  waited.  She  knew 
Lynda  was  saved  from  whatever  had  troubled  her. 
It  was  only  the  telling  of  it  now.  And  presently 
the  dark  head  was  lifted. 

"Betty,  it  is  Con  and  I!" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"I've  loved  him  all  my  life;  and  I  believe — I 
know — he  loved  me!  Women  do  not  make  mistakes 
about  the  real  thing." 

"Never,  Lyn,  never." 

"Betty,  once  when  I  thought  Con  had  wronged 
me,  I  wanted  to  come  to  you — I  almost  did — but  I 
couldn't  then!  Now  that  I  am  sure  I  have  wronged 
him,  it  is  easy  to  come  to  you — you  are  so  under- 
standing!" The  radiance  of  Lynda's  face  rather 
startled  Betty.  Abandon,  relief,  glorified  it  until  it 
seemed  a  new — a  far  more  beautiful  face. 

"All  my  life,  Betty,  I've  been  controlling  myself 
— conquering  myself.  I  got  started  that  way  and — 
and  I've  kept  on.  I've  never  done  anything  with- 
out considering  and  weighing;  but  now  I'm  going  to 
fling  myself  into  love  and  life  and — pay  whatever 
there  is  to  pay." 

"Why,  Lyn,  dear,  please  go  slower."  Betty 
pressed  her  face  to  the  head  at  her  knee. 


28o  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"Betty,  there  was  another  love  in  Con's  life- 
one  that  should  never  have  been  there." 

This  almost  took  Betty's  breath.  She  was  thank- 
ful Lynda's  eyes  were  turned  away;  but  by  some 
strange  magic  the  words  raised  Truedale  in  Betty's 
very  human  imagination. 

"I  sometimes  think  the — the  thing  that  happened 
— was  the  working  out  of  an  old  inheritance;  Con 
has  overcome  much,  but  that  caught  him  in  its 
snare.  He  was  ready  to  let  it  ruin  his  whole  future. 
He  would  never  have  flinched — never  have  known, 
or  admitted  if  he  had  known — what  he  had  foregone. 
But  the  thing  was  taken  out  of  his  control  altogether 
— the  girl  married  another  man! 

"When  Con  came  to  himself  again,  he  told  me, 
Betty — told  me  so  simply,  so  tragically,  that  I  saw 
what  a  deep  cut  the  experience  had  made  in  his 
life — how  it  had  humbled  him.  Never  once  did  he 
blame  any  one  else.  I  loved  him  for  the  way  he 
looked  upon  it;  so  many  men  could  not  have  done 
so.  That  made  the  difference  with  me.  It  was  what 
the  thing  had  done  to  Con  that  made  it  possible 
for  me  to  love  him  the  more! 

"He  wanted  the  best  things  in  life  but  didn't 
think  he  was  worthy!  And  I?  Well,  I  thought  I 
saw  enough  for  us  both,  and  so  I  married  him! 
Then  something  happened — it  doesn't  matter  what 
it  was — it  was  a  foolish,  ugly  thing,  but  it  had  to  be 
something.  And  Con  thought  I  had  never  forgiven 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  281 

the — the  first  love — that  I  had  sacrificed  myself 
for  him — in  marriage!  And  no  woman  could  bear 
that." 

"My  poor,  dear  Lyn." 

"Can't  you  see,  Betty,  it  all  comes  from  the 
idiotic  idea  that  men— some  men — have  about 
women.  They  put  us  on  a  toppling  pedestal;  when 
we  fall  they  are  surprised,  and  when  we  don't  they 
— are  afraid  of  us  1  And  all  the  time — you  know  this, 
Betty — we  ought  not  to  be  on  pedestals  at  all;  we 
don't — we  don't  belong  on  them!  We  want  to  be 
close  and  go  along  together. " 

"Yes,  Lyn;  we  do!  we  do!" 

"Well — after  Con  misunderstood,  I  just  let  him 
go  along  thinking  I  was — well,  the  kind  of  woman 
who  could  sacrifice  herself.  I  thought  he  would 
want  me  so  that  he  would — find  out.  And  so  we've 
been  eating  our  hearts  out — for  ages!" 

"Why,  Lyn!  you  cruel,  foolish  girl." 

"Yes — and  because  I  knew  you  would  say  that— 
I  could  come  to  you.  You — do  not  blame  Con?" 

"Blame  him!  Why,  Lyn,  a  gentleman  doesn't 
take  a  woman  off  her  beastly  pedestal;  she  comes 
down  herself — if  she  isn't  a  fool." 

"Well,  Betty,  I'm  down!  I'm  down,  and  I'm 
going  to  crawl  to  Con,  if  necessary,  and  then — I 
think  he'll  lift  me  up." 

"He'll  never  pull  you  down,  that's  one  sure  thing!" 

"Oh!  thank  you,  Betty.     Thank  you." 


282  THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 

"But,  Lyn — what  has  so  suddenly  brought  you 
to  your  senses  ? " 

"Your  little  baby,  Betty!" 

"My — baby!"  The  words  came  in  a  hard,  gasp- 
ing breath. 

"I  held  him  when  he  died,  Betty  I  had  never 
been  close  to  a  baby  before — never!  A  strange 
thing  happened  to  me  as  I  looked  at  him.  It  was 
like  knowing  what  a  flower  would  be  while  holding 
only  the  bud  The  baby's  eyes  had  the  same  ex- 
pression I  have  seen  in  Con's  eyes — in  Brace's; 
I  know  now  it  is  the  whole  world's  look.  It  was  full 
of  wonder — full  of  questions  as  to  what  it  all  meant. 
I  am  sure  that  it  comes  and  goes  but  never  really 
is  answered — here,  Betty." 

"Oh!  Lyn.  And  I  have  been  bitter — miserable — 
because  I  felt  that  it  wasn't  fair  to  take  my  baby 
until  he  had  done  some  little  work  in  the  world! 
And  now — why,  he  did  a  great  thing.  My  little, 
little  baby!"  Betty  was  clinging  to  Lynda,  crying 
as  if  all  the  agony  were  swept  away  forever. 

"Sometimes" — Lynda  pressed  against  Betty — 
"sometimes,  lately,  in  Con's  eyes  I  have  seen  the 
look!  It  was  as  if  he  were  asking  me  whether  he 
had  yet  been  punished  enough!  And  I've  been 
thinking  of  myself — thinking  what  Con  owed  me; 
what  /  wanted;  when  I  should  have  it!  I  hate  and 
despise  myself  for  my  littleness  and  prudery; 
why,  he's  a  thousand  times  finer  than  I!  That's 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  283 

what  pedestals  have  done  for  women.  But  now, 
Betty,  I'm  down;  and  I'm  down  to  stay.  I'm " 

"Wait,  Lyn,  dear."  Betty  mopped  her  wet 
face  and  started  up.  She  had  seen  a  tall  form 
pass  the  window,  and  she  felt  as  if  something  tre- 
mendous were  at  stake.  "Just  a  minute,  Lyn.  I 
must  speak  to  Mrs.  Waters  if  you  are  to  stay  over 
night.  She's  old,  you  know,  and  goes  early  to  bed." 

Lynda  still  sat  on  the  floor — her  face  turned  to 
the  red  glow  of  the  fire  that  was  growing  duller  and 
duller.  Presently  the  door  opened,  and  her  words 
flowed  on  as  if  there  had  been  no  interruption. 

"I'm  going  to  Con  to-morrow.  I  had  to  make 
sure — first;  but  I  know  now,  I  know!  I'm  going 
to  tell  him  all  about  it — and  ask  him  to  let  me  walk 
beside  him.  I'm  going  to  tell  him  how  lonely  I've 
been  in  the  place  he  put  me — how  I've  hated  it! 
And  some  time — I  feel  as  sure  as  sure  can  be — there 
will  be  something  I  can  do  that  will  prove  it." 

"My— darling!" 

Arms  stronger  than  Betty's  held  her  close — 
held  her  with  a  very  human,  understanding  strength. 

"You've  done  the  one  big  thing,  Lyn!" 

"Not  yet,  not  yet,  Con,  dear." 

"You  have  made  me  realize  what  a  wrong — a 
bitter  wrong — I  did  you,  when  I  thought  you  could 
be  less  than  a  loving  woman." 

"Oh,  Con!     And  have  you  been  lonely,  too?" 

"Sweet,  I  should  have  died  of  loneliness  had  some- 


284  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

thing  not  told  me  I  was  still  travelling  up  toward  you. 
That  has  made  it  possible." 

"Instead" — Lynda  drew  his  face  down  to  hers — 
"instead,  I've  been  struggling  up  toward  you ! 
Dear,  dear  Con,  it  isn't  men  and  women;  it's  the 
man — the  woman.  Can't  you  see?  It's  the  sort  of 
thing  life  makes  of  us  that  counts;  not  the  steps  we 
take  on  the  way  You — you  know  this,  Con?" 

"I  know  it,  now,  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul." 


It  was  one  of  Betty's  quaint  sayings  that  some 
lives  were  guided  by  flashlights,  others  by  a  steady 
gleam.  Hers  had  always  been  by  the  former  method. 
She  made  her  passage  from  one  illumination  to  an- 
other with  great  faith,  high  courage,  and  much 
joyousness.  After  the  night  when  Lynda  made  her 
see  what  her  dear,  dead  baby  had  accomplished  in  his 
brief  stay,  she  rose  triumphant  from  her  sorrow. 
She  was  her  old,  bright  self  again;  she  sang  in  her 
home,  transfigured  Brace  by  her  happiness,  and 
undertook  her  old  interests  and  duties  with  genuine 
delight. 

But  for  Lynda  and  Truedale  the  steady  gleam  was 
necessary.  They  never  questioned — never  doubted 
— after  the  night  when  they  came  home  from  the 
little  house  in  the  woods.  To  them  both  happiness 
was  no  new  thing;  it  was  a  precious  old  thing  given 
back  after  a  dark  period  of  testing.  The  days  were 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  285 

all  too  short,  and  when  night  brought  Conning  run- 
ning and  whistling  to  the  door,  Lynda  smiled  and 
realized  that  at  last  the  fire  was  burning  briskly 
on  her  nice,  clean  hearth.  They  had  so  much  in 
common — so  much  that  demanded  them  both  in  the 
doing  of  it. 

"No  bridges  for  us,  here  and  there,  over  which  to 
reach  each  other,"  thought  Lynda;  "it's  the  one 
path  for  us  both."  Then  her  eyes  grew  tenderly 
brooding  as  she  remembered  how  'twas  a  little  child 
that  had  led  them — not  theirs,  but  another's. 

The  business  involved  in  setting  old  William  True- 
dale's  money  in  circulation  was  absorbing  Conning 
at  this  time.  Once  he  set  his  feet  upon  the  way,  he 
did  not  intend  to  turn  back;  but  he  sometimes  won- 
dered if  the  day  would  ever  come  when  he  could, 
with  a  clear  conscience,  feel  poor  enough  to  enjoy 
himself,  selfishly,  once  more. 

From  McPherson  he  heard  constantly  of  the  work 
in  the  southern  hills.  Truedale  was,  indeed,  a 
strong  if  silent  and  unsuspected  force  there.  As  once 
he  had  been  an  unknown  quantity,  so  he  remained; 
but  the  work  went  on,  supervised  by  Jim  White, 
who  used  with  sagacity  and  cleverness  the  power 
placed  in  his  hands. 

Truedale's  own  particular  interests  were  nearly 
all  educational.  Even  here,  he  held  himself  in  re- 
serve— placed  in  more  competent  hands  the  power 
they  could  wield  better  than  he.  Still,  he  was 


286  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

personally  known  and  gratefully  regarded  by  many 
young  men  and  women  who  were  struggling — as  he 
once  had  struggled — for  what  to  them  was  dearer 
than  all  else.  He  always  contrived  to  leave  them 
their  independence  and  self-respect.  Naturally  all 
this  was  gratifying  and  vital  to  Lynda.  Achieve- 
ment was  dear  to  her  temperament,  and  the  successes 
of  others,  especially  those  nearest  to  her,  were  more 
precious  to  her  than  her  own.  She  saw  Truedale 
drop  his  old  hesitating,  bewildered  manner  like  a 
discarded  mantle.  She  grew  to  rely  upon  his  calm 
strength  that  developed  with  the  demands  made 
upon  it.  She  approved  of  him  so!  And  that  realiza- 
tion brought  out  the  best  in  her. 

One  November  evening  she  and  Con  were  sitting 
in  the  library,  Truedale  at  his  desk,  Lynda  idly  and 
luxuriously  rocking  to  and  fro,  her  hands  clasped 
over  her  head.  She  had  learned,  at  last,  the  joy  of 
absolute  relaxation. 

"There's  a  big  snow-storm  setting  in,"  she  said, 
smiling  softly.  Then,  apropos  of  nothing:  "Con, 
we've  been  married  four  years  and  over!" 

"Only  that,  Lyn?  It  seems  to  me  like  my  whole 
life." 

"Oh,  Con — so  long  as  that?" 

"Blessedly  long." 

After  another  pause  Lynda  spoke  merrily:  "Con, 
I  want  some  of  Uncle  William's  money.  A  lot  of  it." 

Truedale  tossed  her  a  new  check  book.     "Now 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  287 

that  you  see  there  is  no  string  tied  to  it,"  he  said, 
"may  I  ask  what  for?  Just  sympathetic  interest, 
you  know." 

"Of  course.  Well,  it's  this  way.  Betty  an'd 
I  are  broke.  It's  fine  for  you  to  make  roads  and 
build  schools  and  equip  the  youth  of  America  for 
getting  all  the  learning  they  can  carry,  but  Betty 
and  I  are  after  the  babies.  We've  been  agonizing 
over  the  Saxe  Home — Betty's  on  the  Board — and 
before  Christmas  we  are  going  to  undress  all  those 
poor  standardized  infants  and  start  their  cropped 
hair  to  growing." 

Truedale  laughed  heartily.  "Intimacy  with 
Betty,"  he  said,  "has  coloured  your  descriptive 
powers,  Lyn,  dear." 

"Oh,  all  happy  women  talk  one  tongue." 

"And  you  are  happy,  Lyn?" 

"Happy?     Yes — happy,  Con!" 

They  smiled  at  each  other  across  the  broad  table. 

"Betty  has  told  the  superintendent  that  if  there 
is  a  blue  stripe  or  a  cropped  head  on  December 
twenty-fourth,  she's  going  to  recommend  the  dis- 
missal of  the  present  staff." 

"Good  Lord!  Does  any  one  ever  take  Betty 
seriously?  I  should  think  one  of  those  board  meet- 
ings would  bear  a  strong  family  resemblance  to  an 
afternoon  tea — rather  a  frivolous  one." 

"They  don't.  And,  honestly,  people  are  tremen- 
dously afraid  of  Betty.  She  makes  them  laugh,  but 


288  THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 

they  know  she  gets  what  she  wants — and  with  a 
joke  she  drives  her  truths  home." 

"There's  something  in  that."  Truedale  looked 
earnest.  "She's  a  great  Betty." 

"So  it's  up  to  Betty  and  me,  now,"  Lynda  went 
on.  "We  can  take  off  the  shabby,  faded  little  duds, 
but  we've  got  to  have  something  to  put  on  at  once, 
or  the  kiddies  will  take  cold." 

"Surely." 

"We  think  that  to  start  a  child  out  in  stripes  is 
almost  as  bad  as  finishing  him  in  them.  To  make  a 
child  feel — different — is  sure  to  damn  him." 

'"And  so  you  are  going  to  make  the  Saxe  Home 
an  example  and  set  the  ball  rolling." 

"Exactly,  Con.  And  we're  going  to  slam  the 
door  in  the  faces  of  the  dramatic  rich  this  Christmas. 
The  Iambics  at  the  Saxe  are  going  to  have  a  nice,  old- 
fashioned  tree.  They  are  going  to  dress  it  themselves 
the  night  before,  and  whisper  up  the  chimney  what 
they  want — and  there  is  not  going  to  be  a  speech  on 
Christmas  Day  within  a  mile  of  that  Home!" 

"That's  great.  I'd  like  to  come  in  on  that  my- 
self." 

"You  can,  Con,  we'll  need  you." 

"Christmas  always  does  set  the  children  in  one's 
thoughts,  doesn't  it  ?  I  suppose  Betty  is  particularly 
keen — having  had  her  baby  for  a  day  or  so."  True- 
dale's  eyes  were  tender.  Betty's  baby  and  its  ful- 
filled mission  were  sacred  to  him  and  Lynda. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST  289 

"Betty  is  going  to  adopt  a  child,  Con." 

"Really?" 

"Yes.  She  says  she  cannot  stand  Christmas 
without  one.  It's  a  rebuke  to — to  her  boy." 

"Poor  little  Bet!" 

"Oh!  it  makes  me  so — so  humble  when  I  see  her 
courage.  She  says  if  she  has  a  dozen  children  of  her 
own  it  will  make  no  difference;  she  must  have  her 
first  child's  representative.  She's  about  decided 
upon  the  one — he's  the  most  awful  of  them  all.  She's 
only  hesitating  to  see  if  anything  awfuller  will  turn 
up.  She  says  she's  going  to  take  a  baby  no  one  else 
will  have — she's  going  to  do  the  biggest  thing  she  can 
for  her  own  dead  boy.  As  if  her  baby  ever  could 
be  dead!  Sometimes  I  think  he  is  more  alive  than 
if  he  had  stayed  here  and  got  all  snarled  up  in  earthly 
things — as  so  many  do!" 

Conning  came  close  to  Lynda  and  drew  her  head 
back  against  his  breast. 

"You  are — crying,  darling!"  he  said. 

"It's — it's  Betty.  Con,  what  is  it  about  her  that 
sort  of  brightens  the  way  for  us  all,  yet  dims  our 
eyes?" 

"She's  very  illuminating.  It's  a  big  thing — this 
of  adopting  a  child.  What  does  Brace  think  of 
it?" 

"He  adores  everything  Betty  does.  He  says" — • 
Lynda  smiled  up  into  the  face  above  her — "he  says 
he  wishes  Betty  had  chosen  one  with  hair  a  little  less 


290  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

crimson,  but  that  doubtless  he'll  grow  to  like  that 
tint  better  than  any  other." 

"Lyn,  have  you  ever  thought  of  adopting  a  child?" 

"Oh! — sometimes.     Yes,  Con." 

"Well,  if  you  ever  feel  that  you  ought — that  you 
want  to — I  will  be  glad  to — to  help  you.  I  see  the 
risk — the  chance,  and  I  think  I  would  like  a  hand- 
some one.  But  it  is  Christmas  time,  and  a  man  and 
woman,  if  they  have  their  hearts  in  the  right  places, 
do  think  of  children  and  trees  and  all  the  rest  at  this 
season.  Still" — and  with  that  Truedale  pressed  his 
lips  to  Lynda's  hair — "I'm  selfish,  you  seem  already 
to  fill  every  chink  of  my  life." 

"Con,  that's  a  blessed  thing  to  say  to  a  woman- 
even  though  the  woman  knows  you  ought  not  to 
say  it.  And  now,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  something 
else,  Con.  It's  foolish  and  trifling,  perhaps,  but 
IVe  set  my  heart  upon  it  ever  since  the  Saxe  Home 
got  me  to  thinking." 

"Anything  in  the  world,  Lyn!     Can  I  help?" 

"I  should  say  you  could.  You'll  have  to  be 
about  the  whole  of  it.  Starting  this  Christmas,  I'm 
going  to  have  a  tree — right  here  in  this  room — close 
to  Uncle  William's  chair!" 

"  By  Jove !  and  for — for  whom  ? " 

"Why,  Con,  how  unimaginative  you  are!  For 
you,  for  me,  for  Uncle  William,  for  any  one — any 
really  right  person,  young  or  old — who  needs  a 
Christmas  tree.  Somehow,  I  have  a  rigid  belief 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  291 

that  some  one  will  always  be  waiting.  It  may  not 
be  an  empty-handed  baby.  Perhaps  you  and  I 
may  have  to  care  for  some  dear  old  soul  that  others 
have  forgotten.  We  could  do  this  for  Uncle  Wil- 
liam, couldn't  we,  Con?" 

"Yes,  my  darling." 

"The  children  cannot  always  know  what  they 
are  missing,  but  the  old  can,  and  my  heart  aches 
for  them  often — aches  until  it  really  hurts." 

"My  dear  girl!" 

"They  are  so  alike,  Con,  the  babies  and  the 
very  aged.  They  need  the  same  things — the  cod- 
dling, the  play,  the  pretty  toys  to  amuse  them — 
until  they  fall  asleep." 

"Lynda,  you  are  all  nerves  and  fancies.  Pretty 
ones — but  dangerous.  We'll  have  our  tree — we'll 
call  it  Uncle  William's.  We'll  take  any  one — every 
one  who  is  sent  to  us — and  be  grateful.  And  that 
makes  me  think,  we  must  have  a  particularly  giddy 
celebration  up  at  the  Sanatorium.  McPherson 
and  I  were  speaking  of  it  to-day." 

"Con,  I  wonder  how  many  secret  interests  you 
have  of  which  I  do  not  know?" 

"Not  many." 

"I  wonder!" 

Truedale  laughed,  a  bit  embarrassed.  "Well," 
he  said,  suddenly  changing  the  subject,  "talking 
about  nerves  reminds  me  that  when  the  holidays 
are  over  you  and  I  are  going  away  on  a  honeymoon. 


292  THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 

After  this  we  are  to  have  one  a  year.  We'll  drop 
everything  and  indulge  in  the  heaven-given  luxury 
of  loafing.  You  need  it.  Your  eyes  are  too  big 
and  your  face  too  pale.  I  don't  see  what  has  ailed 
me  no£  to  notice  before.  But  right  after  Christmas, 
dear,  I'm  going  to  run  away  with  you.  .  .  . 
What  are  you  thinking  about,  Lyn?" 

"Oh,  only  the  blessedness  of  being  taken  care 
of!  It's  strange,  but  I  know  now  that  all  my  life — 
before  this — I  was  gazing  at  things  through  closed 
windows.  Alone  in  my  cell  I  looked  out — some- 
times through  beautiful  stained  glass,  to  be  sure — 
at  trees  waving  and  people  passing.  Now  and  then 
some  one  paused  and  spoke  to  me,  but  always  with 
the  barrier  between.  Now — I  touch  people — there 
is  nothing  to  keep  us  apart.  I'm  just  like  every- 
body else;  and  your  love  and  care,  Con,  have  set 
the  windows  wide!" 

"This  will  never  do,  Lyn.  Such  fancies!  I  may 
have  to  take  you  away  before  Christmas."  True- 
dale  spoke  lightly  but  his  look  was  anxious. 

"In  the  meantime,  let  us  go  out  for  a  walk  in  the 
snow.  There's  enough  wind  to  make  it  a  tussle. 
Come,  dear!" 


CHAPTER  XX 

TWO  days  later  Lynda  came  down  from  her 
workshop  by  the  back  stairs,  and  passed 
through  William  Truedale's  bedchamber  on 
the  way  to  the  library.  It  was  only  ten  o'clock  in 
the  morning  but  Truedale  had  a  habit,  if  he  hap- 
pened to  be  in  the  neighbourhood,  of  dropping  in 
for  a  moment  at  this  hour.  If  he  should  to-day 
Lynda  wanted  to  confer  with  him  about  some  de- 
tails concerning  the  disrobing  of  the  Saxe  infants. 
She  was  particularly  light  hearted  and  merry.  A 
telephone  call  from  Betty  had  put  her  in  the  sunniest 
humour. 

To  her  surprise,  as  she  entered  the  library,  she 
saw  a  small,  most  peculiar-looking  woman  sitting 
quite  straight  on  the  edge  of  a  chair  in  the  middle 
of  the  room. 

It  was  a  cast-iron  rule  that  Lynda  must  not  be 
disturbed  at  her  morning  work.  Thomas  generally 
disposed  of  visitors  without  mercy. 

"Good  morning!"  Lynda  said  kindly.  "Can 
I  do  anything  for  you  ?  I  am  sorry  you  had  to  wait." 

She  concluded  it  was  some  one  connected  with 
the  Saxe  Home.  That  was  largely  in  her  mind  at 
the  moment. 

293 


294  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"I  want  to  see" — and  here  the  strange  little  figure 
came  to  Lynda  and  held  out  a  very  dirty,  crumpled 
piece  of  paper  on  which  was  written  Truedale's 
name  and  address. 

"Mr.  Truedale  may  not  be  home  until  evening," 
Lynda  said.  And  now  she  thought  that  this  must 
be  one  of  the  private  and  pet  dependents  of  Con's 
with  whom  she  would  deal  very  gently  and  tactfully. 
"I  wonder  if  you  won't  tell  me  all  about  it  and  I 
will  either  tell  Mr.  Truedale  or  set  a  time  for  you  to 
see  him." 

Glad  of  any  help  in  this  hour  of  extremity,  the 
stranger  said : 

"  I'm — I'm  Nella-Rose.     Do  you  know  about  me  ?" 

Know  about  her?  Why,  after  the  first  stunning 
shock,  she  seemed  to  be  the  only  thing  Lynda  did 
know  about — ever  had  known!  She  stared  at  the 
little  figure  before  her  for  what  seemed  an  hour. 
She  noted  the  worried,  pitiful  child  face  that,  screened 
behind  the  worn  and  care-lined  features,  looked 
forth  like  a  pretty  flower.  Then  Lynda  said, 
weakly : 

"Yes,  I  know  about  you — all  about  you,  Nella- 
Rose." 

The  pitiful  eyes  brightened.  What  Nella-Rose 
had  been  through  since  leaving  her  hills  only  God 
understood. 

"I'm  right  glad!     And  you — you  are " 

"I'm  Conning  Truedale's — wife." 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  295 

Somehow  Lynda  expected  this  to  be  a  devastating 
shock,  but  it  was  not.  Nella-Rose  was  past  res- 
ervations or  new  impressions. 

"I — I  reckoned  so,"  was  all  she  said. 

"You  must  sit  down.  You  look  very  tired." 
Lynda  had  forgotten  Truedale's  possible  appear- 
ance. 

"I  am  right  tired.  It's  a  mighty  long  way  from 
Pine  Cone.  And  I  was  so — so  frightened,  but  folks 
was  certainly  good  and  just  helped  me — to  here! 
One  old  lady  came  to  the  door  with  me." 

"Why — have  you  come,  Nella-Rose?"  Lynda 
drew  her  own  chair  close  to  the  stranger's  and  as  she 
did  so,  she  could  but  wonder,  now  that  she  was  her- 
self again,  how  exactly  Nella-Rose  seemed  to  fit 
into  the  scene.  She  was  like  a  recurrence — like 
some  one  who  had  played  her  part  before — or  were 
the  scene  and  Nella-Rose  but  the  materialization  of 
something  Lynda  had  always  expected,  always 
dreaded,  but  which  she  had  always  known  must 
come  some  day?  She  was  prepared  now — terribly 
prepared!  Everything  depended  upon  her  man- 
agement of  the  crucial  moments.  Her  kindness  did 
not  desert  her,  nor  her  merciful  justice,  but  she  meant 
to  shield  Truedale  with  her  life — hers  and  Nella- 
Rose's,  if  necessary.  "Why — have  you — come?" 
she  asked  again,  and  Nella-Rose,  taking  for  granted 
that  this  pale,  strange  woman  did  know  all  about 
her — knew  everything  and  every  one  pertaining  to 


296  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

her — fixed  her  sweet  eyes,  tear-filled  but  not  over- 
flowing, upon  her  face. 

"I  want — to  tell  him  that  I'm  right  sorry  I  hated 
him.  I — I  didn't  know  until  Bill  Trim  died.  I 
want  to  ask  him  to — to  forgive  me,  and — then  I 
can  go  back." 

"What— did— Bill  Trim  tell  you?"  Lynda  tried 
with  all  her  strength  to  keep  her  mind  cool,  her 
thoughts  steady.  She  wanted  to  lead  Nella-Rose 
on  and  on,  without  losing  the  way  herself. 

"That  he  burned — he  didn't  mean  to — he  burned 
the  letter  I  sent — asking — 

"I  see!     You  wrote — a  letter,  then?" 

"Yes.  He  told  me,  if  I  wanted  him — and  I 
did — Godda'mighty!  how  I  wanted  him  then!" 
Nella-Rose  clasped  her  poor  little  work-hardened 
hands  close,  and  her  small  white  teeth  showed  through 
the  parted  lips  while  she  struggled  to  regain  her  calm. 

"You  see — when  I  gave  the  letter  to  Bill  Trim,  I 
—I  told  him — I  had  to — that  it  was  Miss  Lois  Ann's, 
so  he  didn't  think  it  mattered  to  me;  but  when  he 
was  dying — he  was  hurt  on  the  big  road  they  are 
making  in  the  hills — he  was  brought  to  us-all,  and 
Miss  Lois  Ann  and  I  took  care  of  him,  and  he  grew 
right  sorry  for  hating  her  and  not  telling  about  the 
letter — and  then — he  spoke  it  out!" 

"I  see.  I  see.  And  that  was — how  long  ago — 
that  you  wrote  the  letter?" 

Nella-Rose  looked  back  over  the  weary  way  she 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  297 

had  travelled,  to  this  moment  in  the  warm,  sun- 
filled  room. 

"It  was  befo'  HI'  Ann  came  that  I  sent  the  letter," 
she  faltered. 

"Little  Ann?"  Lynda  repeated  the  name  and 
something  terrible  rose  within  her — something  that 
would  kill  her  unless  she  conquered  it.  So  she  asked 
quickly,  desperately: 

"Your — your  child?     I  see.     Goon — Nella-Rose." 

"I  wrote  the  letter  and — sent  it.  I  was  hid  in 
Miss  Lois  Ann's  cabin — it  was  winter — and  no  one 
found  out!  Miss  Lois  Ann  wouldn't  believe  what  I 
told;  she  said  when  him  and  me  was  married  under 
the  trees  and  God  understood,  it  didn't  make  me — 
right!  She — helped  me,  but  she  hated — him!  And 
then  when  he — didn't  come,  she  taught  me  to — to 
hate,  and  it  was  right  black  hate  until  hT  Ann  came. 
When  God  let  her  down  to  me — He  took  the  hate 
away." 

Lynda  was  blinded  by  her  tears.  She  could 
hardly  see  the  small  figure  crouching  in  the  low  chair 
by  the  fire. 

"And  then — Miss  Lois  Ann  went  and  told  my 
folks — told  Marg,  my  sister.  Marg  was  married 
to  Jed  and  she  was  mighty  scornful  of  me  and  lil' 
Ann.  She  wouldn't  tell  Jed  and  my  father — she  came 
alone  to  me.  She  told  me  what  folks  thought. 
They-all  thought  I'd  gone  away  with  Burke  Lawson 
and  Marg  felt  sorry  to  see  me  alive — with  lil'  Ann. 


298  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

But  Miss  Lois  Ann  wouldn't  let  her  sting  me  with 
her  tongue — she  drove  her  away.  Then — Burke 
came!  He'd  been  a  right  long  way  off — he'd  broken 
his  leg;  he  came  as  soon  as  he  could,  and  Marg  told 
him  and — and  laid  HI'  Ann  to  him!" 

"And  you — never  spoke?  You  never  told?" 
Lynda  had  drawn  very  close — her  words  were  barely 
above  a  whisper. 

"No.  It  was  this-er-way.  First,  love  for  him 
held  my  tongue  mighty  still;  then  hate;  and  after- 
wards I  couldn't!" 

"But  now,  Nella-Rose,  now — why  have  you 
spoken — now  ? " 

"I  haven't  yet.  Not  to  them-all.  I  had  to  come 
here — to  him  first.  I  reckon  you  don't  know  about 
Burke  and  me?" 

Lynda  shook  her  head.  She  had  thought  she 
knew — but  she  had  wandered  sadly. 

"When  Marg  laid  my  trouble  to  Burke  he  just 
took  it!  First  I  couldn't  understand.  But  he 
took  my  trouble — and  me!  He  took  HI'  Ann  and  me 
out  of  Miss  Lois  Ann's  cabin  into — peace  and  safety. 
He  tied  every  one's  tongue — it  seemed  like  he  drove 
all  the — the  wrong  away  by  his  big,  strong  love — 
and  set  me  free,  like  he  was  God!  He  didn't  ask 
nothing  for  a  right  long  time,  not  'til  I  grew  to — 
believe  him  and  trust  him.  Then  we  went — when 
no  one  knew — and  was  married.  Now  he's  my  man 
and  he's  always  been  HI'  Ann's  father  till — till— 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  299 

A  log  fell  upon  the  hearth  and  both  women  started 
guiltily  and  affrightedly. 

"Go  on!  go  on!"  breathed  Lynda.     "Go  on!" 

"Till  the  twins  came — Burke's  and  mine!  Then 
he  knew  the  difference — even  his  love  for  me 
couldn't  help  him — it  hindered;  and  while  I — I  feared, 
I  understood!" 

"Oh!  oh!  oh!"  Lynda  covered  her  aching  eyes  with 
her  cold  hands.  She  dared  not  look  at  Nella-Rose. 
That  childish  yet  old  face  was  crowding  everything 
but  pity  from  the  world.  Truedale,  herself — what 
did  they  matter? 

"He — he  couldn't  bear  to  have  HI*  Ann  touch— 
the  babies.  I  could  see  him — shiver!  And  HP 
Ann — she's  like  a  flower — she  fades  if  you  don't 
love  her.  She  grew  afraid  and — and  hid,  and  it 
seemed  like  the  soul  of  me  would  die;  for,  don't  you 
see,  Burke  thinks  that  Marg's  man  is — is  the  father, 
and  Marg  and  Jed  lays  the  trouble  to  Burke  and 
they  think  her — his!  And — and  it  has  grown  more 
since  the  big  road  brought  us-all  closer.  The  big 
road  brought  trouble  as  well  as  good.  Once" — and 
here  the  haggard  face  whitened — "once  Burke  and 
Jed  fought — and  a  fight  in  the  hills  means  more 
fights!  Just  then  Bill  Trim  was  hurt  and  told  me 
before  he  died;  it  was  like  opening  a  grave!  I 
'most  died  'long  with  Bill  Trim — 'til  I  studied 
about  lil'  Ann !  And  then — I  saw  wide,  and  right  far, 
like  I  hadn't  since — since  before  I  hated.  I  saw 


3oo  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

how  I  must  come  and — tell  you-all,  and  how  maybe 
you'd  take  HI'  Ann,'  and  then  I  could  go  back  to — to 
my  man  and — there'll  be  peace  when  he  knows— 
at  last!  Will  you — oh!  will  you  be  with  me,  kind 
lady,  when  I — tell  your — your — man?"  Nella-Rose 
dropped  at  Lynda's  feet  and  was  pleading  like  a  dis- 
traught child.  "I've  been  so  afraid.  I  did  not  know 
his  world  was  so  full  of  noise  and — and  right  many 
things.  And  he  will  be — different — and  I  may  not 
be  able  to  make  him  understand.  But  you  will— 
you  will!  I  must  get  back  to  the  hills.  I  done  told 
Burke  I — I  was  going  to  prove  myself  to  his  goodness 
— by  putting  lil'  Ann  with  them  as  would  be  mighty 
kind  to  her.  I  seemed  to  know  how  it  would  turn 
out — and  I  dared  to  say  it;  but  now — now  I  am 
mighty — 'fraid!" 

The  tears  were  falling  from  the  pain-racked  eyes — 
falling  upon  Lynda's  cold,  rigid  hands — and  they 
seemed  to  warm  her  heart  and  clear  her  vision. 

"Nella-Rose,"  she  said,  "where  is  little  Ann?" 

"Lil'  Ann?  Why,  there's  HI'  Ann  sleeping  her  tire 
off  under  your  pillows.  She  was  cold  and  mighty 
wore  out."  Nella-Rose  turned  toward  the  deep 
couch  under  the  broad  window  across  the  room. 

Silently,  like  haunted  creatures,  both  women  stole 
toward  the  couch  and  the  mother  drew  away  the 
sheltering  screen  of  cushions.  As  she  did  so,  the 
little  child  opened  her  eyes,  and  for  a  moment  en- 
deavoured to  find  her  place  in  the  strangeness.  She 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  301 

looked  at  her  mother  and  smiled  a  slow,  peculiar 
smile.  Then  she  fixed  her  gaze  upon  Lynda.  It 
was  an  old,  old  look — but  young,  too — pleading, 
wonder-filled.  The  child  was  so  like  Truedale — so 
unmercifully,  cruelly  like  him — that,  for  a  moment, 
reason  deserted  Lynda  and  she  covered  her  face 
with  both  hands  and  swayed  with  silent  laughter. 

Nella-Rose  bent  over  her  child  as  if  to  protect  her. 
"Lil'  Ann,"  she  whispered,  "the  lady  is  a  right  kind 
lady — right  kind!"  She  felt  she  must  explain  and 
justify. 

After  a  moment  or  two  Lynda  gained  control  of 
her  shaken  nerves.  She  suddenly  found  herself 
calm,  and  ready  to  undertake  the  hardest,  the  most 
perilous  thing  that  had  ever  come  into  her  life. 
"Bring  little  Ann  to  the  fire;"  she  said,  "I'm  going 
to  order  some  lunch,  and  then — we  can  decide,  Nella- 
Rose." 

Nella-Rose  obeyed,  dumbly.  She  was  completely 
under  the  control  of  the  only  person,  who,  in  this 
perplexed  and  care-filled  hour,  seemed  able  to  guide 
and  guard  her. 

Lynda  watched  the  two  eat  of  the  food  Thomas 
brought  in.  There  was  no  fear  of  Truedale  coming 
now.  There  was  safety  ahead  for  some  hours. 
Lynda  herself  made  a  pretext  of  eating,  but  she 
hardly  took  her  eyes  from  little  Ann's  face.  She 
wanted  familiarity  to  take  the  place  of  shock.  She 
must  grow  accustomed  to  that  terrible  resemblance, 


302  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

for  she  knew,  beyond  all  doubt,  that  it  was  to  hold 
a  place  in  all  her  future  life. 

When  the  last  drop  of  milk  went  gurgling  down 
the  little  girl's  throat,  when  Nella-Rose  pushed  her 
plate  aside,  when  Thomas  had  taken  away  the  tray, 
Lynda  spoke: 

"And  now,  Nella-Rose,  what  are  you  going  to — 
to  do  with  us  all?" 

The  tired  head  of  little  Ann  was  pressed  against 
her  mother's  breast.  The  food,  the  heat,  were 
lulling  her  weary  senses  into  oblivion  again.  Lynda 
gave  a  swift  thought  of  gratitude  for  the  momentary 
respite  as  she  watched  the  small,  dark  face  sink 
from  her  direct  view. 

"We  are  all  in  your  hands, "  she  continued. 

"  In  my  hands — mine  ?  " 

"Yes.     Yours." 

"I — I  must — tell  him — and  then  go  home." 

"Must  you,  Nella-Rose?" 

"What  else  is  there  for  me?" 

"You  must  decide.     You,  alone." 

"You" — the  lips  quivered — "you  will  not  go  with 
me?" 

"I— cannot,  Nella-Rose." 

"Why?" 

"Because'' — and  with  all  her  might  Lynda  sought 
words  that  would  lay  low  the  difference  between  her 
and  the  simple,  primitive  woman  close  to  her — 
felt  she  must  use  ideas  and  terms  that  would  convey 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  303 

her  meaning  and  not  drive  her  and  Nella-Rose  apart 
—"because,  while  he  is  my  man  now,  he  was  first 
yours.  Because  you  were  first,  you  must  go  alone — 
if  go  you  must.  Then  he  shall  decide." 

Nella-Rose  grasped  the  deep  meaning  after  a  mo- 
ment and  sank  back  shivering.  The  courage  and 
endurance  that  had  borne  her  to  this  hour  deserted 
her.  The  help,  that  for  a  time  had  seemed  to  rise 
up  in  Lynda,  crumbled.  Alone,  drifting  she  knew 
not  where,  Nella-Rose  waited. 

"I'm — afraid!"  she  repeated  over  and  over.  "I'm 
right  afraid.  He's  not  the  same;  it's  all,  all  gone — 
that  other  life — and  yet  I  cannot  let  him  think !" 

The  two  women  looked  at  each  other  over  all 
that  separated  them — and  each  comprehended! 
The  soul  of  Nella-Rose  demanded  justification- 
vindication — and  Lynda  knew  that  it  should  have  it, 
if  the  future  were  to  be  lived  purely.  There  was 
just  one  thing  Lynda  had  to  make  clear  in  this  vital 
moment,  one  truth  that  must  be  understood  without 
trespassing  on  the  sacred  rights  of  others.  Surely 
Nella-Rose  should  know  all  that  there  was  to  know 
before  coming  to  her  final  decision.  So  Lynda  spoke : 

"You  think  he" — she  could  not  bring  herself,  for 
all  her  bravery  and  sense  of  justice,  to  speak  her 
husband's  name — "you  think  he  remembers  you  as 
something  less  than  you  were,  than  you  are? 
Nella-Rose,  he  never  has!  He  did  not  understand, 
but  always  he  has  held  you  sacred.  Whatever  blame 


304  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

there  may  have  been — he  took  it  all.  It  was  because 
he  could;  because  it  was  possible  for  him  to  do  so, 
that  I  loved  him — honoured  him.  Had  it  been 
otherwise,  as  truly  as  God  hears  me,  I  could  not 
have  trusted  him  with  my  life.  That — that  mar- 
riage of  yours  and  his  was  as  holy  to  him  as,  I  now 
see,  it  was  to  you;  and  he,  in  his  heart,  has  always 
remembered  you  as  he  might  a  dear,  dead — wife!" 

Having  spoken  the  words  that  wrung  her  heart, 
Lynda  sank  back  exhausted.  Then  she  made  her 
first — her  only  claim  for  herself. 

"It  was  when  everything  was  past  and  his  new  life 
began — his  man's  life — that  I  entered  in.  He — he 
told  me  everything." 

Nella-Rose  bent  over  her  sleeping  child,  and  a 
wave  of  compassion  overflooded  her  thought. 

"I — I  must  think!"  she  whispered,  and  closed 
her  lovely  eyes.  What  she  saw  in  the  black  space 
behind  the  burning  lids  no  one  could  know,  but  her 
tangled  little  life  must  have  been  part  of  it.  She 
must  have  seen  it  all — the  bright,  sunlit  dream  fading 
first  irito  shadow,  then  into  the  dun  colour  of  the 
deserted  hills.  Burke  Lawson  must  have  stood 
boldly  forth,  in  his  supreme  unselfishness  and  God- 
like power,  as  her  redeemer — her  man!  The  gray 
eyes  suddenly  opened  and  they  were  calm  and  still. 

"I — I  only  wanted  him — to  remember  me — like 
he  once  did,"  she  faltered.  She  was  taking  her 
last  look  at  Truedale.  "So  long  as  he — he  didn't 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  305 

think  me — less;  I  reckon  I  don't  want  him — to  think 
of  me  as  I  am — now." 

"Suppose" — the  desperate  demand  for  full  justice 
to  Nella-Rose  drove  Lynda  on — "suppose  it  were 
in  your  power  and  mine  to  sweep  everything  aside; 
suppose  I — I  went  away.  What  would  you  do, 
Nella-Rose?" 

Again  the  eyes  closed.     After  a  moment: 

"I — would  go  back  to — my  man!" 

"You  mean  that — as  truly  as  God  hears  you? 
—you  mean  that,  Nella-Rose?" 

"Yes.     But  HI' Ann?" 

Now  that  she  had  made  the  great  decision  about 
Truedale,  there  was  still  "hT  Ann." 

Lynda  fought  for  mastery  over  the  dread  thing 
that  was  forcing  its  way  into  her  consciousness. 
Then  something  Nella-Rose  was  saying  caught  her 
fevered  thought. 

"When  I  was  a  hT  child  I  used  to  dream  that 
some  day  I  would  do  a  mighty  big  thing — maybe 
this  is  it.  I  don't  want  to  hurt  his  life  and — yours; 
I  couldn't  hurt  my  man  and — and — the  babies 
waiting  back  there  for  me.  But — lil'  Ann!" 

The  name  came  like  a  sob.  And  somehow  Lynda 
thought  of  Burke  Lawson!  Burke,  who  had  done 
his  strong  best,  and  still  could  not  keep  himself  in 
control  because  of — lil'  Ann!  The  helpless  baby 
was — oh!  yes,  yes — it  was  Truedale's  responsibility. 
If  she,  Lynda,  were  to  keep  her  life — her  sacred  love 


3o6  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

— she,  too,  must  do  a  "big  thing" — perhaps  the 
biggest  a  woman  is  ever  called  upon  to  do — to  prove 
her  faith. 

For  another  moment  she  struggled;  then,  like  a 
blind  woman,  she  stretched  out  her  hands  and  laid 
them  upon  the  child. 

"Nella-Rose,  will  you  give — me  little  Ann?" 

"  Give  her — to — you  ? "  There  was  anguish,  doubt, 
but  hope,  in  the  words. 

"I  want — the  child!  She  shall  have  her  father — 
her  father's  home — his  love,  God  willing!  And 
I,  Nella-Rose,  as  I  hope  for  God's  mercy,  I  will  do 
my  duty  by  little  Ann." 

And  now  Lynda  was  on  the  floor  beside  the  shabby 
pair,  shielding  them  as  best  she  could  from  the  last 
wrench  and  renunciation. 

"Are  you  doing  this  for — for  your  man?"  whis- 
pered Nella-Rose. 

"Yes.  For  my — man!"  They  looked  long  into 
each  other's  eyes.  Then  solemnly,  slowly,  Nella- 
Rose  relinquished  her  hold  of  the  child. 

"I — give  you — HI'  Ann."  So  might  she  have 
spoken  if,  in  religious  fervour,  she  had  been  resigning 
her  child  to  death.  "I — I — give  you  HI'  Ann." 
Gently  she  kissed  the  sleeping  face  and  laid  her  bur- 
den in  the  aching,  strained  arms  that  had  still  to 
learn  their  tender  lesson  of  bearing.  Ann  opened 
her  eyes,  her  lips  quivered,  and  she  turned  to  her 
mother. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  307 

"Take— HI'  Ann!"  she  pleaded.  Then  Nella- 
Rose  drank  deep  of  the  bitter  cup,  but  she  smiled— 
and  spoke  one  of  the  lies  over  which  angels  have  wept 
forgivingly  since  the  world  began. 

"Lil'  Ann,  the  kind  lady  is  going  to  keep  yo'  right 
safe  and  happy  'til  mother  makes  things  straight 
back  there  with — with  yo' — father,  in  the  hills. 
Jes'  yo'  show  the  lady  how  sweet  and  pretty  yo' 
can  be  'til  mother  comes  fo'  yo'!  Will  yo' — HP 
Ann?" 

"How  long?" 

"A  mighty  HP  while." 

All  her  life  the  child  had  given  up — shrunk  from 
that  which  she  feared  but  did  not  understand;  and 
now  she  accepted  it  all  in  the  dull,  hopeless  way  in 
which  timid  children  do.  She  received  her  mother's 
kiss — gave  a  kiss  in  return;  then  she  looked  gloomily, 
distrustingly,  at  Lynda.  After  that  she  seemed  com- 
placent and  obeyed,  almost  stupidly,  whatever  she 
was  told  to  do. 

Lynda  took  Nella-Rose  to  the  station,  saw  to 
her  every  comfort,  put  a  sum  of  money  in  her  hand 
with  the  words: 

"You  must  take  it,  Nella-Rose — to  prove  your 
trust  in  me;  and  it  will  buy  some — some  things  for— 
the  other  babies.  But" — and  here  she  went  close 
to  Nella-Rose,  realizing  for  the  first  time  that  the 
most  difficult  part,  for  her,  was  yet  to  come — "how 
will  it  be  with — with  your  man — when  he  knows  ? " 


3o8  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

Nella-Rose  looked  up  bravely  and  something  crept 
into  her  eyes — the  look  of  power  that  only  a  woman 
who  recognizes  her  hold  on  a  man  ever  shows. 

"He'll  bear  it — right  grateful — and  it'll  wipe 
away  the  hate  for  Jed  Martin.  He'll  do  the  for- 
giving— since  IVe  given  up  lil'  Ann;  and  if  he  doubts 
—there's  Miss  Lois  Ann.  She's  mighty  powerful 
with  men — when  it's  women  that  matters." 

"  It's  very  wonderful ! "  murmured  Lynda.  "  More 
wonderful  than  I  can  understand."  And  yet  as 
she  spoke  she  knew  that  she  did  understand.  Be- 
tween her  and  Burke  Lawson,  a  man  she  was  never  to 
know,  there  was  a  common  tie — a  deep  comprehension. 

Late  that  afternoon  Lynda  drove  to  Betty's  with 
little  Ann  sitting  rigidly  on  the  seat  beside  her. 
The  child  had  not  spoken  since  she  had  seen  the 
train  move  out  of  the  station  bearing  her  mother 
away.  She  had  not  cried  or  murmured.  She  had 
gone  afterward,  holding  Lynda's  hand,  through 
amazing  experiences.  She  had  seen  her  shabby  gar- 
ments discarded  in  dazzling  shops,  and  fine  apparel 
replace  them.  Once  she  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
her  small,  transformed  self  in  a  long  mirror  and  her 
dark  eyes  had  widened.  That  was  all.  Lynda  had 
watched  her  feverishly.  She  had  hoped  that 
with  the  change  of  clothing  the  startling  likeness 
would  lessen,  but  it  did  not.  Robed  in  the  trap- 
pings of  her  father's  world,  little  Ann  seemed  to 
become  more  wholly  his. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  309 

"Do  you  like  yourself,  little  Ann?"  Lynda  had 
asked  when,  at  last,  a  charming  hat  was  placed  upon 
the  dark  curls. 

There  was  no  word  of  reply — only  the  wide,  help- 
less stare — and,  to  cover  her  confusion,  Lynda  hur- 
ried away  to  Betty. 

The  maid  who  admitted  her  said  that  "Mrs. 
Kendall  was  upstairs  in  the  nursery  with  the  baby." 

Lynda  paused  on  the  stairs  and  asked  blankly: 
"The  baby?  What  baby?" 

The  maid  was  a  trusted  one  and  close  to  Betty. 

"The  little  boy  from  the  Home,  Mrs.  Truedale," 
she  replied,  "and  already  the  house  is  cheerfuller." 

Lynda  felt  a  distinct  disappointment.  She  had 
hoped  that  Betty  would  care  for  little  Ann  for 
a  few  days,  but  how  could  she  ask  it  of  her  now? 

In  the  sunny  room  upstairs  Betty  sat  in  a  low 
rocker,  crooning  away  to  a  restless  bundle  in  her 
arms. 

"You,  Lyn?"  Lynda  stood  in  the  doorway; 
Betty's  back  was  to  her. 

"Yes,  Betty." 

"Come  and  see  my  red-headed  boy — my  Bobi- 
link!  He's  going  to  be  Robert  Kendall." 

Then  Lynda  drew  near  with  Ann.  Betty  stopped 
rocking  and  confronted  the  two  with  her  far-reaching, 
strangely  penetrating  gaze. 

"What  a  beautiful  little  girl,"  she  whispered. 

"Is  she  beautiful,  Betty?" 


3io  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"She's — lovely.  Come  here,  dear,  and  see  my 
baby."  Betty  put  forth  a  welcoming  hand  to  the 
child,  but  Ann  shrank  away  and  her  long  silence  was 
broken. 

"I  jes'  naturally  hate  babies!"  she  whispered,  in 
the  soft  drawl  that  betrayed  her. 

"Lyn,  who  is  she?     Why — what  is  the  matter?" 

Lynda  came  close  and  her  words  did  not  reach 
past  Betty's  strained  hearing.  "I — I'm  going  to 
—adopt  her.  I — I  must  prepare,  Con.  I  hoped 
you'd  keep  her  for  a  few  days." 

"Of  course  I  will,  Lyn.  I'm  ready — but  Lyn, 
tell  me!" 

"Betty,  look  at  her!  She  has  come  out  of— 
of  Con's  past.  He  doesn't  know,  he  mustn't  know 
— not  now!  She  belongs  to — to  the  future.  Can 
you — can  you  understand?  I  never  suspected  until 
to-day.  I've  got  to  get  used  to  it!"  Then, 
fiercely:  "But  I'm  going  to  do  it,  Betty!  Con's 
road  is  my  road;  his  duty  my  duty;  it's  all  right- 
only  just  at  first — I've  got  to — steady  my  nerves!" 

Without  a  word  Betty  rose  and  laid  the  now- 
sleeping  baby  in  a  crib;  then  she  came  back  to  the 
low  chair  and  opened  her  arms  to  little  Ann  with  the 
heaven-given  gesture  that  no  child  resists — espe- 
cially a  suffering,  lonely  child. 

"Come  here,  little  girl,  to — to  Aunt  Betty,"  she 
said. 

Fascinated,  Ann  walked  to  the  shelter  offered. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  311 

"Will  you  kiss  me?"  Betty  asked.  The  kiss  was 
given  mutely. 

"Will  you  tell  Aunt  Betty  your  name?" 

"Ann." 

"Ann  what?" 

"  Jes'  HI'  Ann." 

Then  Betty  raised  her  eyes  to  Lynda's  face  and 
smiled  at  its  tragic  suffering. 

"Poor,  old  Lyn!"  she  said,  "run  home  to  Con. 
You  need  him  and  God  knows  he  needs  you.  It  will 
take  the  big  love,  Lyn,  dear,  the  big  love;  but  you 
have  it — you  have  it!" 

Without  a  word  Lynda  turned  and  left  Betty 
with  the  children. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

POTENTIAL  motherhood  can  endure  throes 
of  travail  other  than  physical;  and  for  the 
next  week  Lynda  passed  through  all  the 
phases  of  spiritual  readjustment  that  enabled  her, 
with  blessed  certainty  of  success,  to  accept  what  she 
had  undertaken. 

She  did  not  speak  to  Truedale  at  once,  but  she 
went  daily  to  Betty's  and  with  amazement  watched 
the  miracle  Betty  was  performing.  She  never  forgot 
the  hour,  when,  going  softly  up  the  stairs,  she  heard 
little  Ann  laugh  gleefully  and  clap  her  hands. 

Betty  was  placing  with  the  baby  and  telling  Ann 
a  story  at  the  same  time.  Lynda  paused  to  listen. 

"And  now  come  here,  little  Ann,  and  kiss  Bobilink. 
Isn't  he  smelly-sweet  and  wonderful?" 

"Yes." 

"That's  right.  Kiss  him  again.  And  you  once 
said  you  just  naturally  didn't  like  babies!  Little 
Ann,  you  are  a  humbug.  And  now  tell  me  how  much 
you  like  Bobilink." 

"Heaps  and  lickwigs." 

"Now  kiss  me,  you  darling,  and  come  close — 
so  we  will  not  waken  Bobbie.  Let  me  see,  this  is 
going  to  be  the  story  of  the  little  girl  who  adopted  a— 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  313 

mother!  Yesterday  it  was  Bobbie's  story  of  how  a 
mother  adopted  a  little  boy.  You  remember,  the 
mother  had  to  have  a  baby  to  fill  a  big  empty  space, 
so  she  went  to  a  house  where  some  lost  kiddies  were 
and  found  just  the  one  that  fitted  in  and — and — but 
this  is  Ann's  story  to-day! 

"Once  there  was  a  little  girl — a  very  dear  and 
good  little  girl — who  knew  all  about  a  mother,  and 
how  dear  a  mother  was;  because  she  had  one  who  was 
obliged  to  go  away— 

"For  a  right  lil'  time?"  Ann  broke  in. 

"Of  course,"  Betty  agreed,  "a  right  little  time; 
but  the  small  girl  thought,  while  she  waited,  that 
she  would  adopt  a  mother  and  not  tell  her  about  the 
other  one,  for  fear  she  might  not  understand,  and 
she'd  teach  the  adopted  mother  how  to  be  a  real 
mother.  And  now  one  must  remember  all  the  things 
little  girls  do  to — to  adopted  mothers.  First " 

At  this  point  Lynda  entered  the  room,  but  Betty 
went  on  calmly: 

"First,  what  do  little  girls  do,  Ann?" 

"Teach  them  how  to  hold  HI'  girls." 

"Splendid!    What  next?" 

"Kiss  them  and  cuddle  them  right  close." 

"Exactly!    Next?" 

"They  make  mothers  glad  and  they  make  them 
laugh — by  being  mighty  good." 

Then  both  Betty  and  Ann  looked  at  Lynda.  The 
sharp,  outer  air  had  brought  colour  to  her  cheeks, 


3i4  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

life  to  her  eyes.     She  was  very  handsome  in  her  rich 
furs  and  dark,  feathered  hat. 

"Now,  little  Ann,  trot  along  and  do  the  lesson, 
don't  forget!"  Betty  pushed  the  child  gently 
toward  Lynda. 

With  a  laugh,  lately  learned  and  a  bit  doubtful, 
Ann  ran  to  the  opened  arms. 

"Snuggle!"  commanded  Betty. 

"I'm  learning,  little  Ann,"  Lynda  whispered, 
"you're  a  dear  teacher.  And  now  I  have  something 
to  tell  you." 

Ann  leaned  back  and  looked  with  suspicion  at 
Lynda.  Her  recent  past  had  been  so  crowded  with 
events  that  she  was  wary  and  overburdened. 

"What  ? "  she  asked,  with  more  dread  than  interest. 

"Ann,  I'm  going  to  take  you  to  a  big  house  that 
is  waiting  for  a — little  girl." 

The  child  turned  to  Betty. 

"I  don't  want  to  go,"  she  said,  and  her  pretty 
mouth  quivered.  Was  she  always  to  be  sent  away? 
— always  to  have  to  go  when  she  did  not  want  to 
go? 

Betty  smiled  into  the  worried  little  face.  "Oh! 
we'll  see  each  other  every  day,"  she  comforted; 
"and  besides,  this  is  the  only  way  you  can  truly 
adopt  a  mother  and  play  fair.  It  will  be  another  dear 
place  for  Bobilink  to  go  for  a  visit,  and  best  of  all— 
there's  a  perfectly  splendid  man  in  the  big  house — 
for  a — for — a  father!" 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  315 

Real  fear  came  into  Ann's  eyes  at  this — fear  that 
lay  at  the  root  of  all  her  trouble. 

"No!"  she  cried.     "I  can't  play  father!" 

Lynda  drew  her  to  her  closely.  "Ann,  little  Ann, 
don't  say  that!"  she  pleaded  passionately:  "I'll 
help  you,  and  together  we'll  make  it  come  true. 
We  must,  we  must!" 

Her  vehemence  stilled  the  child.  She  put  her 
hands  on  either  side  of  Lynda's  face  and  timidly 
faltered:  "I'll— I'll  try." 

"Thank  you,  dear.  And  now  I  want  to  tell  you 
something  else — we're  going  to  have  a  Christmas 
tree." 

This  meant  nothing  to  the  little  hill-child,  so  she 
only  stared. 

"And  you  must  come  and  help." 

"You  have  something  to  teach  her,  Lyn,"  Betty 
broke  in.  There  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  "Just 
think  of  a  baby-thing  like  that  not  knowing  the  thrills 
of  Christmas." 

Then  she  turned  to  Ann:  "Go,  sweetheart," 
she  said,  "and  make  a  nest  for  Bobbie  on  the  bed 
across  the  hall."  And  then  when  Ann  trotted  off 
to  do  the  bidding,  Betty  asked:  "What  did  he  say, 
Lyn,  when  you  told  him?" 

"He  said  he  was  glad,  very  glad.  He  has  been 
willing,  for  a  long  time,  that  I  should  take  a  child — 
when  I  saw  one  I  wanted.  He  naturally  connects 
Ann  with  the  Saxe  Home;  her  being  with  you  has 


3i6  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

strengthened  this  belief.     I  shall  let  it  go  at  that — 
for  a  time,  Betty.'* 

"Yes.  It  is  better  so.  After  he  learns  to  know 
and  love  the  child,"  Betty  mused,  "the  way  will 
be  opened.  And  oh!  Lyn,  Ann  is  so  wonderful. 
She  has  the  most  remarkable  character — so  deep  and 
tenderly  true  for  such  a  mite." 

"Suppose,  Betty — suppose  Con  notices  the  like- 
ness!" 

At  this  Betty  smiled  reassuringly. 

"He  won't.  Men  are  so  stupidly  humble.  A 
pretty  little  girl  would  escape  them  every  time." 

"But  her  Southern  accent,  Betty.  It  is  so  pro- 
nounced." 

"My  dear  Lyn,  it  is!  She  sometimes  talks  like  a 
little  darkey;  but  to  my  certain  knowledge  there 
are  ten  small  Southerners  at  the  Saxe,  of  assorted  ages 
and  sexes,  waiting  for  adoption." 

"And  she  may  speak  out,  Betty.  Her  silence  as 
to  the  past  will  disappear  when  she  has  got  over  her 
fear  and  longing." 

Betty  looked  more  serious.  "I  doubt  it.  Not  a 
word  has  passed  her  lips  here — of  her  mother  or  home. 
It  has  amazed  me.  She's  the  most  unusual,  the  most 
fascinating  creature  I  ever  saw,  for  her  age.  Brace 
is  wild  about  her — he  wants  me  to  keep  her.  But, 
Lyn,  if  she  does  break  her  strange  silence,  it  will  be 
your  big  hour!  Whatever  Con  is  or  isn't — and  some- 
times I  feel  like  hugging  him,  and  again,  like  shaking 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  317 

him — he's  the  tenderest  man  with  women — not 
even  excepting  Brace — that  I  have  ever  seen.  It 
never  has  occurred  to  him  to  reason  out  how  much 
you  love  him — he's  too  busy  loving  you.  But  when 
he  finds  this  out!  Well,  Lyn,  it  makes  me  bow 
my  head  and  speak  low." 

"Don't,  Betty!  Don't  suggest  pedestals  again," 
Lynda  pleaded. 

"No  pedestal,  Lyn;  no  pedestal — but  the  real, 
splendid  you  revealed  at  last!  And  now — forget  it, 
dear.  Here  comes  hT  Ann." 

The  child  tiptoed  in  with  outstretched  arms. 

"The  nest  is  made  right  soft,"  she  whispered, 
"and  now  let  me  carry  Bobilink  to — to  the  sleepy 
dreams. " 

"Where  did  you  learn  to  carry  babies?"  Betty 
hazarded,  testing  the  silence.  The  small,  dark  face 
clouded;  the  fear-look  crept  to  the  large  eyes. 

"I — I  don't  know, "  was  the  only  reply,  and  Ann 
turned  away — this  time  toward  Lynda! 

"And  suppose  he  never  knows?"  Lynda  spoke 
with  her  lips  pressed  to  Ann's  soft  hair — the  child 
was  in  her  arms. 

"Then  you  and  Con  will  have  something  to  begin 
heaven  with."  Betty's  eyes  were  wet.  "We  all 
have  something  we  don't  talk  about  much  on  earth— 
we  do  not  dare.  Brace  and  I  have  our — baby!" 

Two  days  later  Lynda  took  Ann  home.  They  went 
shopping  first  and  the  child  was  dazzlingly  excited. 


3i8  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

She  forgot  her  restraint  and  shyness  in  the  fascinating 
delirium  of  telling  what  she  wanted  with  a  pretty 
sure  belief  that  she  would  get  it.  No  wonder  that 
she  was  taken  out  of  herself  and  broke  upon  True- 
dale's  astonished  gaze  as  quite  a  different  child  from 
the  one  Lynda  had  described. 

The  brilliant  little  thing  came  into  the  hall  with 
Lynda,  her  arms  filled  with  packages  too  precious 
to  be  consigned  to  other  hands;  her  eyes  were  dancing 
and  her  voice  thrilling  with  happiness. 

"And  now  I'll  call  you  muvver-Lyn  'cause  you're 
mighty  kind  and  this  is  your  house!  It's  a  right 
fine  house." 

Truedale  had  well  timed  his  return  home.  He 
was  ready  to  greet  the  two  in  the  library.  The 
prattling  voice  charmed  him  with  its  delightful  mel- 
lowness and  he  went  forward  gladly  to  meet  Lynda 
and  the  new  little  child.  Ann  was  ahead;  Lynda 
fell  back  and,  with  fast-throbbing  heart  waited  by 
the  doorway. 

Ann  had  had  a  week  and  more  of  Brace  Kendall 
to  wipe  away  the  impression  Burke  Lawson  had  im- 
printed upon  her  mind.  But  she  was  shy  of  men 
and  weighed  them  carefully  before  showing  favours. 
She  stood  still  when  she  saw  Truedale;  she  dropped, 
unheeded,  a  package;  she  stared  at  him,  while  he 
waited  with  extended  hands.  Then  slowly — as  if 
drawn  against  her  will — Ann  advanced  and  laid  her 
hands  in  his. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  319 

"So  this  is  the  little  girl  who  has  come  to  help  us 
make  Christmas?" 

"Yes."  Still  that  fixed  look.  It  seemed  to 
Lynda  the  most  unnatural  thing  she  had  ever  seen. 
And  oh !  how  alike  the  two  were,  now  that  they  were 
together! 

"You  are  little  Ann  and  you  are  going  to  play 
with "-  — Truedale  looked  toward  Lynda  and  drew 
her  to  him  by  the  love  in  his  eyes —  "You  are  going 
to  play  with  us,  and  you  will  call  us  mother  and 
father,  won't  you,  little  Ann  ? "  He  meant  to  do  his 
part  in  full.  He  would  withhold  nothing,  now  that 
Lynda  had  decided  to  take  this  step. 

"Yes." 

"And  do  you  suppose  you  could  kiss  me — 
to  begin  with  ? " 

Quaintly  the  child  lifted  herself  on  her  toes — 
Truedale  was  half  kneeling  before  her — and  gave 
him  a  lingering  kiss. 

"We're  going  to  be  great  friends,  eh,  little  Ann?" 
Truedale  was  pleased,  Lynda  saw  that.  The  little 
girl  was  making  a  deep  impression. 

"Yes."  Then— deliberately:  "Shall  I  have  to 
teach  you  to  be  a  father?" 

"What  does  she  mean?"  Truedale  looked  at  Lynda 
who  explained  Betty's  charming  foolery. 

"I  see.  Well,  yes,  Ann,  you  must  teach  me  to  be 
a  father." 

And    so   they   began    their   lives   together.     And 


320  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

after  a  few  days  Lynda  saw  that  during  the  child's 
stay  with  Betty  the  crust  of  sullen  reserve  had  de- 
parted— the  little  creature  was  the  merriest,  sweet- 
est thing  imaginable,  once  she  could  forget  herself. 
Protected,  cared  for,  and  considered,  she  developed 
marvellously  and  soon  seemed  to  have  been  with 
them  years  instead  of  days.  The  impression  was 
almost  startling  and  both  Lynda  and  Truedale  re- 
marked upon  it. 

"There  are  certain  things  she  does  that  appear 
always  to  have  been  waiting  for  her  to  do,"  Conning 
said,  "it  makes  her  very  charming.  She  brushes 
the  dogs  and  cats  regularly,  and  she's  begun  to  pick 
up  books  and  papers  in  my  den  in  a  most  alarming 
way — but  she  always  manages  to  know  where  they 
belong." 

"That's  uncanny,"  Lynda  ventured;  "but  she 
certainly  has  fitted  in,  bless  her  heart!" 

There  had  been  moments  at  first  when  Lynda 
feared  that  Thomas  would  remember  the  child,  but 
the  old  eyes  could  hardly  be  expected  to  recognize, 
in  the  dainty  little  girl,  the  small,  patched,  and  soiled 
stranger  of  the  annoying  visit.  Many  times  had 
Thomas  explained  and  apologized  for  the  admittance 
of  the  two  "forlornities,"  as  he  called  them. 

No,  everything  seemed  mercifully  blurred;  and 
Ann,  in  her  new  home,  apparently  forgot  everything 
that  lay  behind  her.  She  never  even  asked  to  go 
back  to  Betty's  though  she  welcomed  Betty,  Brace, 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  321 

and  Bobbie  with  flattering  joy  whenever  they  came 
to  visit.  She  learned  to  be  very  fond  of  Lynda — 
was  often  sweetly  affectionate  with  her;  but  in  the 
wonderful  home,  her  very  own,  waited  upon  and 
cared  for,  it  was  Conning  who  most  appealed  to  her. 
For  him  she  watched  and  waited  at  the  close  of  day, 
and  if  she  were  out  with  Lynda  she  became  nervous 
and  worried  if  they  were  delayed  as  darkness  crept  on. 

"I  want  father  to  see  me  waiting,"  she  would 
urge;  "I  like  to  see  his  gladness." 

"And  so  do  I!"  Lynda  would  say,  struggling  to 
overcome  the  unworthy  resentment  that  occasion- 
ally got  the  better  of  her  when  the  child  too  fervently 
appropriated  Conning. 

But  this  trait  of  Ann's  flattered  and  delighted 
Truedale;  often  he  was  amused,  but  he  knew  that 
it  was  the  one  thing  above  all  else  in  the  little  girl 
that  endeared  her  to  him. 

"What  a  darling  she  is!"  he  often  said  to  Lynda 
when  they  were  alone  together.  "Is  she  ever 
naughty?" 

"Yes,  often — the  monkey!" 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  I  hate  a  flabby  youngster. 
Does  she  ever  speak  of  her  little  past,  Lyn?" 

"Never." 

"Isn't  that  strange?" 

"Yes,  but  I'm  glad  she  doesn't.  I  want  her  to 
forget.  She's  very  happy  with  us — but  she's  far 
from  perfect." 


322  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"To  what  form  of  cussedness  does  she  tend,  Lyn? 
With  me  she's  as  lamblike  as  can  be." 

"Oh!  she  has  a  fiery  temper  and,  now  that  I 
think  of  it,  she  generally  shows  it  in  reference  to  you." 

"To  me?"  Truedale  smiled. 

"Yes.  Thomas  found  her  blacking  your  shoes 
the  other  day.  She  was  making  an  awful  mess  of  it 
and  he  tried  to  take  them  from  her.  She  gave  him  a 
real  vicious  whack  with  the  brush.  What  she  said 
was  actually  comical:  'He's  mine;  if  I  want  to  take 
the  dirt  from  his  shoes,  I  can.  He  shan't  walk  on 
dirt — and  he's  mine!"1 

"The  little  rascal.     And  what  did  Thomas  do?" 

"Oh!  he  let  her.  People  always  let  her.  I  do 
myself." 

"She's  a  fascinating  kid,"  Truedale  said  with  a 
laugh.  Then,  very  earnestly:  "I'm  rather  glad  we 
do  not  know  her  antecedents,  Lyn;  it's  safer  to  take 
her  as  we  find  her  and  build  on  that.  But  I'd  be 
willing  to  risk  a  good  deal  that  much  love  and  good- 
ness are  back  of  little  Ann,  no  matter  how  much  else 
got  twisted  in.  And  the  love  and  goodness  must  be 
her  passport  through  life." 

"Yes,  Con,  and  they  are  all  that  are  worth  while." 

But  every  change  was  a  period  of  struggle  to 
Ann  and  those  who  dealt  with  her.  She  had  a 
passionate  power  of  attachment  to  places  and  people, 
and  readjustment  caused  her  pain  and  unrest. 

W7hen  school  was  considered,  it  almost  made  her 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST  323 

ill.  She  clung  to  Truedale  and  implored  him  not 
to  make  her  go  away. 

"  But  it's  only  for  the  day  time,  Ann,"  he  explained, 
"and  you  will  have  children  to  play  with — little 
girls  like  yourself." 

"No;  no!  I  don't  want  children — only  Bobbie! 
I  only  want  my  folks!" 

Lynda  came  to  her  defense. 

"Con,  we'll  have  a  governess  for  a  year  or  so." 

"Is  it  wise,  Lyn,  to  give  way  to  her?" 

"Yes,  it  is!"  Ann  burst  in;  "it  is  wise.  I'd  die  if 
I  had  to  go." 

So  she  had  a  governess  and  made  gratifying 
strides  in  learning.  The  trait  that  was  noticeable 
in  the  child  was  that  she  developed  and  thrived 
most  when  not  opposed.  She  wilted  mentally  and 
physically  when  forced.  She  had  a  most  unusual 
power  of  winning  and  holding  love,  and  under 
a  shy  and  gentle  exterior  there  were  passion  and 
strength  that  at  times  were  pathetic.  While  not  a 
robust  child  she  was  generally  well  and  as  time 
passed  she  gained  in  vigour.  Once,  and  once  only, 
was  she  seriously  ill,  and  that  was  when  she  had  been 
with  Truedale  and  Lynda  about  two  years.  During 
all  that  time,  as  far  as  they  knew,  she  had  never 
referred  to  the  past  and  both  believed  that,  for  her, 
it  was  dead;  but  when  weakness  and  fever  loosened 
the  unchildlike  control,  something  occurred  that 
alarmed  Lynda,  but  broke  down  forever  the  thin 


324  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

barrier  that,  for  all  her  effort,  had  existed  between 
her  and  Ann.  She  was  sitting  alone  with  the  child 
during  a  spell  of  delirium,  when  suddenly  the  little 
hot  hands  reached  up  passionately,  and  the  name 
"mother"  quivered  on  the  dry  lips  in  a  tone  unfamil- 
iar to  Lynda's  ears.  She  bent  close. 

"What,  little  Ann?"  she  whispered. 

The  big,  burning  eyes  looked  puzzled.  Then: 
"Take  me  to — to  the  Hollow — to  Miss  Lois 
Ann!" 

" Sh ! "  panted  Lynda,  every  nerve  tingling.  "See, 
little  Ann — don't  you  know  me?" 

The  child  seemed  to  half  understand  and  moaned 
plaintively: 

"I'm  lost!     I'm  lost!" 

Lynda  took  her  in  her  arms  and  the  sick  fancy 
passed,  but  from  that  hour  there  was  a  new  tie 
between  the  two — a  deeper  dependence. 

There  was  one  day  when  they  all  felt  little  Ann 
was  slipping  from  them.  Dr.  McPherson  had  come 
as  near  giving  up  hope  as  he  ever,  outwardly,  per- 
mitted himself  to  do. 

"You  had  better  stay  at  home,"  he  said  to  Con- 
ning; "children  are  skittish  little  craft.  The  best 
of  them  haul  up  anchor  sometimes  when  you  least 
expect  it." 

So  Truedale  remained  at  home  and,  wandering 
through  the  quiet  house,  wondered  at  the  intensity 
of  his  suffering  as  he  contemplated  the  time  on  ahead 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  325 

without  the  child  who  had  so  recently  come  into  his 
life  from  he  knew  not  where.  He  attributed  it  all 
to  Ann's  remarkable  characteristics. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  anxious  day  he  went 
into  the  sick  room  and  leaned  over  the  bed.  Ann 
opened  her  eyes  and  smiled  up  at  him,  weakly. 

"Make  a  light,  father,"  she  whispered,  and  with 
a  fear-filled  heart  Truedale  touched  the  electric 
button.  The  room  was  already  filled  with  sunlight, 
for  it  faced  the  west;  but  for  Ann  it  was  cold  and 
dark. 

Then,  as  if  setting  the  last  pitiful  scene  for  her  own 
departure,  she  turned  to  Lynda:  "Make  a  mother- 
lap  for  Ann,"  she  said.  Lynda  tenderly  lifted  the 
thin  form  from  the  bed  and  held  it  close. 

"I — I  taught  you  how  to  be  a  mother,  didn't  I, 
mommy-Lyn?"  she  had  never  called  Lynda  simply 
"mother,"  while  "father"  had  fallen  naturally  from 
her  lips. 

"Yes,  yes,  little  Ann."  Lynda's  eyes  were  filled 
with  tears  and  in  that  moment  she  realized  how 
much  the  child  meant  to  her.  She  had  done  her 
duty,  had  exceeded  it  at  times,  in  her  determination 
not  to  fall  short.  She  had  humoured  Ann,  often 
taking  sides  against  Conning  in  her  fear  of  being 
unjust.  But  oh!  there  had  always  been  something 
lacking;  and  now,  too  late,  she  felt  that,  for  all  her 
struggle,  she  had  not  been  true  to  the  vow  she  had 
made  to  Nella-Rose! 


326  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

But  Ann  was  gazing  up  at  her  with  a  strange, 
penetrating  look. 

"It's  the  comfiest  lap  in  the  world,"  she  faltered, 
"for  little,  tired  girls." 

"I — I  love  her!"  Lynda  gazed  up  at  Truedale  as 
if  confessing  and,  at  the  end,  seeking  forgiveness. 

"Of  course  you  do!"  he  comforted,  "but — be 
brave,  Lyn!"  He  feared  to  excite  Ann.  Then  the 
weary  eyes  of  the  child  turned  to  him. 

"  Mommy-Lyn  does  love  me ! "  the  weak  voice  was 
barely  audible;  "she  does,  father,  she  does!" 

It  was  like  a  confirmation — a  recognition  of  some- 
thing beautiful  and  sacred. 

"I  felt,"  Lynda  said  afterward  to  Betty,  "as  if 
she  were  not  only  telling  Con,  but  God,  too.  I  had 
not  deserved  it — but  it  made  up  for  all  the  hard 
struggle,  and  swept  everything  before  it." 

But  Ann  did  not  die.  Slowly,  almost  hesitatingly, 
she  turned  back  to  them  and  brought  a  new  power 
with  her.  She,  apparently,  left  her  baby  looks  and 
nature  in  the  shadowy  place  from  which  she  had 
escaped.  Once  health  came  to  her,  she  was  the 
merriest  of  merry  children — almost  noisy  at  times — 
in  the  rollicking  fashion  of  Betty's  irrepressible 
Bobilink.  And  the  haunting  likeness  to  Truedale 
was  gone.  For  a  year  or  two  the  lean,  thready  little 
girl  looked  like  no  one  but  her  own  elfish  self;  and 
then — it  was  like  a  revealment — she  grew  to  be  like 
Nella-Rose! 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  327 

Lynda,  at  times,  was  breathless  as  she  looked  and 
remembered.  She  had  seen  the  mother  only  once; 
but  that  hour  had  burned  the  image  of  face,  form, 
and  action  into  her  soul.  She  recalled,  too,  Con- 
ning's  graphic  description  of  his  first  meeting  with 
Nella-Rose.  The  quaint,  dramatic  power  that  had 
marked  Ann's  mother,  now  developed  in  the  little 
daughter.  She  had  almost  entirely  lost  the  lingering 
manner  of  speech — the  Southern  expressions  and 
words — but  she  was  as  different  from  the  children 
with  whom  she  mingled  as  she  had  ever  been. 

When  she  was  strong  enough  she  resumed  her 
studies  with  the  governess  and  also  began  music. 
This  she  enjoyed  with  the  passion  that  marked  her 
attitude  toward  any  person  or  thing  she  loved. 

"Oh,  it  lets  something  in  me,  free!"  she  confided 
to  Truedale.  "I  shall  never  be  naughty  or  unkind 
again — I  wouldn't  dare!" 

"Why?"  Conning  was  no  devotee  of  music  and 
was  puzzled  by  Ann's  intensity. 

"Why,"  she  replied,  puckering  her  brows  in  the 
effort  to  make  herself  clear,  "I — I  wouldn't  be 
worthy  of — of  the  beautiful  music,  if  I  were  horrid." 

Truedale  laughed  and  patted  her  pretty  cropped 
head,  over  which  the  new  little  curls  were  clustering. 

Life  in  the  old  house  was  full  and  rich  at  that  time. 
Conning  was,  as  he  often  said,  respectably  busy  and 
important  enough  in  the  affairs  of  men  to  be  content; 
he  would  never  be  one  who  enjoyed  personal  power. 


328  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

Lynda,  during  Ann's  first  years,  had  taken  a  part- 
ner who  attended  to  interviews,  conferences,  and 
contracts;  but  in  the  room  over  the  extension  the 
creative  work  went  on  with  unabated  interest.  Little 
Ann  soon  learned  to  love  the  place  and  had  her  tiny 
chair  beside  the  hearth  or  table.  There  she  learned 
the  lessons  of  consideration  for  others,  and  self- 
control. 

"If  the  day  comes,"  Lynda  told  Betty,  "when  my 
work  interferes  with  my  duty  to  Con  and  Ann, 
it  will  go!  But  more  and  more  I  am  inclined  to  think 
that  the  interference  is  a  matter  of  choice.  I  prefer 
my  profession  to — well,  other  things. " 

"Of  course,"  Betty  agreed;  "women  should  not 
be  forever  coddling  their  offspring,  and  when  they 
learn  to  call  things  by  their  right  names  and  develop 
some  initiative,  they  won't  whine  so  much." 

Lynda  and  Truedale  had  sadly  abandoned  the 
hope  of  children  of  their  own.  It  was  harder  for 
Lynda  than  for  Con,  but  she  accepted  what  seemed 
her  fate  and  thanked  heaven  anew  for  little  Ann 
and  the  sure  sense  that  she  could  love  her  without 
reserve. 

And  then,  after  the  years  of  change  and  readjust- 
ment, Lynda's  boy  was  born!  He  seemed  to  crown 
everything  with  a  sacred  meaning.  Not  without 
great  fear  and  doubt  did  Lynda  go  down  into  the 
shadow;  not  without  an  agony  of  apprehension  did 
Truedale  go  with  her  to  the  boundary  over  which 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  329 

she  must  pass  alone  to  accept  what  God  had  in  store 
for  her.  They  remembered  with  sudden  and  sharp 
anxiety  the  peril  that  Betty  had  endured,  though 
neither  spoke  of  it;  and  always  they  smiled  courage- 
ously when  most  their  hearts  failed. 

Then  came  the  black  hours  of  suffering  and  doubt. 
A  wild  storm  was  beating  outside  and  Truedale, 
hearing  it,  wondered  whether  all  the  great  events  of 
his  life  were  to  be  attended  by  those  outbursts  of 
nature.  He  walked  the  floor  of  his  room  or  hung 
over  Lynda's  bed,  and  at  midnight,  when  she  no 
longer  knew  him  or  could  soothe  him  by  her  brave 
smile,  he  went  wretchedly  away  and  upon  the  dim 
landing  of  the  stairs  came  upon  Ann,  crouching, 
white  and  haggard. 

His  nerves  were  at  the  breaking  point  and  he 
spoke  sharply. 

"Why  are  you  not  in  bed?"  he  asked. 

"While — mommy-Lyn  is — in — there?"  gasped  the 
girl,  turning  reproachful  eyes  up  to  him.  "How — 
could  I?" 

"How  long  have  you  been  here?'* 

"Always;  always!" 

"Ann,  you  must  go  to  your  room  at  once!  Come, 
I  will  go  with  you."  She  rose  and  took  his  hand. 
There  was  fear  in  her  eyes. 

"Is — is  mommy-Lyn "  she  faltered,  and  True- 
dale  understood. 

"Good  God!— no!"  he  replied;  "not  that!" 


330  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

"I  was  to — to  stay  close  to  you. "  Ann  was  trem- 
bling as  she  walked  beside  him.  "She  gave  you — 
to  me!  She  gave  you  to  me — to  keep  for  her!" 

Truedale  stopped  short  and  looked  at  Ann. 
Confusedly  he  grasped  the  meaning  of  the  tie  that 
held  this  child  to  Lynda — that  held  them  all  to  the 
strong,  loving  woman  who  was  making  her  fight 
with  death,  for  a  life. 

"Little  Ann,"  was  all  he  could  say,  but  he  bent 
and  kissed  the  child  solemnly. 

When  morning  dawned,  Lynda  came  back — 
bringing  her  little  son  with  her.  God  had  spoken! 

Truedale,  sitting  beside  her,  one  hand  upon  the 
downy  head  that  had  nearly  cost  so  much,  saw  the 
mother-lips  move. 

"You — want — the  baby?"  he  asked. 

"I  — I  want  little  Ann.'7  Then  the  white  lids  fell, 
shutting  away  the  weak  tears. 

"Lyn,  the  darling  has  been  waiting  outside  your 
door  all  night — I  imagine  she  is  there  now." 

"Yes,  I  know.     I  want  her." 

"Are  you  able — just  now,  dear?" 

"I — must  have  little  Ann." 

So  Ann  came.  She  was  white — very  much  awed; 
but  she  smiled.  Lynda  did  not  open  her  eyes  at 
once;  she  was  trying  to  get  back  some  of  the  old  self- 
control  that  had  been  so  mercilessly  shattered  during 
the  hours  of  her  struggle,  but  presently  she  looked 
up. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  331 

"You — kept  your  word,  Ann,"  she  said.  Then: 
"You — you  made  a  place  for  my  baby.  Little  Ann 
— kiss  your — brother." 

They  named  the  baby  for  William  Truedale  and 
they  called  him  Billy,  in  deference  to  his  pretty  baby 
ways. 

"He  must  be  Uncle  William's  representative,"  said 
Lynda,  "as  Bobbie  is  the  representative  of  Betty's 
little  dead  boy." 

"I  often  think  of — the  money,  Lyn."  Truedale 
spoke  slowly  and  seriously.  "How  I  hated  it;  how 
I  tried  to  get  rid  of  it!  But  when  it  is  used  rightly 
it  seems  to  secure  dignity  for  itself.  I've  learned  to 
respect  it,  and  I  want  our  boy  to  respect  it  also.  I 
want  to  put  it  on  a  firm  foundation  and  make  it  part 
of  Billy's  equipment — a  big  trust  for  which  he  must 
be  trained." 

"I  think  I  would  like  his  training  to  precede  his 
knowledge  of  the  money  as  far  as  possible,"  Lynda 
replied.  "I'd  like  him  to  put  up  a  bit  of  a  fight — 
as  his  father  did  before  him." 

"As  his  father  did  not!"  Truedale's  eyes  grew 
gloomy.  "I'm  afraid,  Lyn,  I'm  constructed  on  the 
modelling  plan — added  to,  built  up.  Some  fellows 
are  chiselled  out.  I  wonder — about  little  Billy. " 

"Somehow"-— Lynda  gave  a  little  contented  smile 

"I  am  not  afraid  for  Billy.  But  I  would  not  take 
the  glory  of  conflict  from  him — no!  not  for  all  Uncle 
William's  money!  He  must  do  his  part  in  the  world 


332  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

and  find  his  place — not  the  place  others  may  choose 
for  him." 

"You're  going  to  be  sterner  with  him  than  you 
are  with  Ann,  aren't  you,  Lyn?"  Truedale  meant 
this  lightly,  but  Lynda  looked  serious. 

"I  shall  be  able  to,  Con,  for  Billy  brought  some- 
thing with  him  that  Ann  had  to  find." 

"I  see — I  see!  That's  where  a  mother  comes  in 
strong,  my  dear." 

"Oh!  Con,  it's  where  she  comes  in  with  fear  and 
trembling — but  with  an  awful  comprehension." 

This  "comprehension"  of  the  responsibilities  of 
maternity  worked  forward  and  backward  with  Lynda 
much  to  Truedale's  secret  amusement.  Confident 
of  her  duty  to  her  son,  she  interpreted  her  duty  to 
Ann.  While  Billy,  red-faced  and  roving-eyed,  gur- 
gled or  howled  in  his  extreme  youth,  Lynda  retraced 
her  steps  and  commandingly  repaired  some  damages 
in  her  treatment  of  Ann. 

"Ann,"  she  said  one  day,  "you  must  go  to  school." 

"Why?"  Ann  naturally  asked.  She  was  a  con- 
scientious little  student  and  extremely  happy  with 
the  governess  who  came  daily  to  instruct  her. 

"You  study  and  learn  splendidly,  Ann,  but  you 
must  have — have  children  in  your  life.  You'll  be 
queer. " 

"I've  got  Bobbie,  and  now  Billy." 

"Ann,  do  not  argue.  When  Billy  is  old  enough 
to  go  to  school  he  is  going,  without  a  word!  I've 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  333 

been  too  weak  with  you,  Ann — you'll  understand 
by  and  by." 

The  new  tone  quelled  any  desire  on  Ann's  part  to 
insist  further;  she  was  rather  awed  by  this  attitude. 
So,  with  a  lofty,  detached  air  Miss  Ann  went  to 
school.  At  first  she  imbibed  knowledge  under  pro- 
test, much  as  she  might  have  eaten  food  she  disliked 
but  which  she  believed  was  good  for  her.  Then 
certain  aspects  of  the  new  experience  attracted  and 
awakened  her.  From  the  mass  of  things  she  ought 
to  know,  she  clutched  at  things  she  wanted  to  know. 
From  the  girls  who  shared  her  school  hours,  she 
selected  congenial  spirits  and  worshipped  them, 
while  the  others,  for  her,  did  not  exist. 

"She's  so  intense,"  sighed  Lynda;  "she's  just 
courting  suffering.  She  lavishes  everything  on  them 
she  loves  and  grieves  like  one  without  hope  when 
things  go  against  her." 

"She's  the  most  dramatic  little  imp."  Truedale 
laughed  reminiscently  as  he  spoke — he  had  seen 
Ann  in  two  or  three  school  performances.  "I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  she  had  genius." 

Betty  looked  serious  when  she  heard  this.  "I 
hope  not!"  was  all  she  said,  and  from  then  on  she 
watched  Ann  with  brooding  eyes;  she  urged  Lynda 
to  keep  her  much  out  of  doors  in  the  companionship 
of  Bobbie  and  Billy  who  were  normal  to  a  relieving 
extent.  Ann  played  and  enjoyed  the  babies — she 
adored  Billy  and  permitted  him  to  rule  over  her  with 


334  THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 

no  light  hand — but  when  she  could,  she  read  poetry 
and  talked  of  strange,  imaginative  things  with  the 
few  girls  in  whose  presence  she  became  rapt  and 
reverent. 

Brace  was  the  only  one  who  took  Ann  as  a 
joke. 

"She's  working  out  her  fool  ideas,  young,"  he 
comforted;  "let  her  alone.  A  boy  would  go  be- 
hind some  barn  and  smoke  and  revel  in  the  idea  that 
he  was  a  devil  of  a  fellow.  Annie" — he,  alone,  called 
her  that — "Annie  is  smoking  her  tobacco  behind  her 
little  barns.  She'll  get  good  and  sick  of  it.  Let  her 
learn  her  lesson." 

"That's  right,"  Betty  admitted,  "girls  ought  to 
learn,  just  as  boys  do — but  if  I  ever  find  Bobbie 
smoking ' 

"What  will  you  do  to  him,  Betty?" 

"Well,  I'm  not  sure,  but  I  do  know  I'd  insist  upon 
his  coming  from  behind  barns." 

And  that  led  them  all  to  consider  Ann  from  the 
barn  standpoint.  If  she  wanted  the  tragic  and 
sombre  she  should  have  it — in  the  sunlight  and 
surrounded  with  love.  So  she  no  longer  was  obliged 
to  depend  on  the  queer  little  girls  who  fluttered  like 
blind  bats  in  the  crude  of  their  adolescent  years. 
Lynda,  Betty,  Truedale,  and  Brace  read  blood- 
curdling horrors  to  her  and  took  her  to  plays — the 
best.  And  they  wedged  in  a  deal  of  wholesome, 
commonplace  fun  that  presently  awoke  a  response 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  335 

and  developed  a  sense  of  humour  that  gave  them  all  a 
belief  that  the  worst  was  past. 

"She  has  forgotten  everything  that  lies  back  of 
her  sickness,"  Lynda  once  said  to  Betty;  "it's  strange, 
but  she  appears  to  have  begun  from  that." 

Then  Betty  made  a  remark  that  Lynda  recalled 
afterward: 

"I  don't  believe  she  has,  Lyn.  I'm  not  worried 
about  Ann  as  you  and  Con  are.  Her  Lady  Macbeth 
pose  is  just  plain  girl;  but  she  has  depths  we  have 
never  sounded.  Sometimes  I  think  she  hides  them 
to  prove  her  gratitude  and  affection,  and  because 
she  is  so  helpless.  She  was  nearly  five  when  she 
came  to  you,  Lyn,  and  I  believe  she  does  remember 
the  hills  and  her  mother!" 

"Why,  Betty,  what  makes  you  think  this?" 
Lynda  was  appalled. 

"It  is  her  eyes.  There  are  moments  when  she 
is  looking  back — far  back.  She  is  trying  to  hold 
to  something  that  is  escaping  her.  Love  her,  Lyn, 
love  her  as  you  never  have  before." 

"If  I  thought  that,  Betty!"  Lynda  was  aghast. 
"Oh!  Betty — the  poor  darling!  I  cannot  believe 
she  could  be  so  strong — so — terrible." 

"It's  more  or  less  subconscious — such  things 
always  are — but  I  think  Ann  will  some  day  prove 
what  I  say.  In  a  way,  it's  like  the  feeling  I  have 
for — for  my  own  baby,  Lyn.  I  see  him  in  Bobbie; 
I  feel  him  in  Bobbie's  dearness  and  naughtiness. 


336  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

Ann  holds  what  went  before  in  what  is  around  her 
now.  Sometimes  it  puzzles  her  as  Bobbie  puzzles 
me." 

About  this  time — probably  because  he  was  hap- 
pier than  he  had  ever  been  before,  possibly  because 
he  had  more  time  that  he  could  conscientiously 
call  his  own  than  he  had  had  for  many  a  well-spent 
year — Truedale  repaired  to  his  room  under  the  eaves, 
sneaking  away,  with  a  half-guilty  longing,  to  his 
old  play!  So  many  times  had  he  resurrected  it, 
then  cast  it  aside;  so  many  hopes  and  fears  had  been 
born  and  killed  by  the  interruption  to  his  work, 
that  he  feared  whatever  strength  it  might  once 
have  had  must  be  gone  now  forever. 

Still  he  retreated  to  his  attic  room  once  more— 
and  Lynda  asked  no  questions.  With  strange  under- 
standing Ann  guarded  that  door  like  a  veritable 
dragon.  When  Billy's  toddling  steps  followed  his 
father  Ann  waylaid  him;  and  many  were  the  swift, 
silent  struggles  near  the  portal  before  the  rampant 
Billy  was  carried  away  kicking  with  Ann's  firm  hand 
stifling  his  outraged  cries. 

"What  Daddy  doing  there?"  Billy  would  demand 
when  once  conquered. 

"That's  nobody's  business  but  Daddy's,"  Ann 
unrelentingly  insisted. 

"I — I  want  to  know!"  Billy  pleaded. 

"Wait  until  Daddy  wants  you  to  know." 

Under  the  eaves,  hope  grew  in  Truedale's  heart. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  337 

The  old  play  had  certainly  the  subtle  human  inter- 
est that  is  always  vital.  He  was  sure  of  that.  Once, 
he  almost  decided  to  take  Ann  into  his  confidence. 
The  child  had  such  a  dramatic  sense.  Then  he 
laughed.  It  was  absurd,  of  course! 

No!  if  the  thing  ever  amounted  to  anything — 
if,  by  putting  flesh  upon  the  dry  bones  and  blood 
into  the  veins,  he  could  get  it  over — it  was  to  be  his 
gift  to  Lynda!  And  the  only  thing  that  encouraged 
him  as  he  worked,  rather  stiffly  after  all  the  years, 
was  the  certainty  that  at  times  he  heard  the  heart 
beat  in  the  shrunken  and  shrivelled  thing!  And 
so — he  reverently  worked  on. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AONG   the  notes   and   suggestions   sprinkled 
through  the  old  manuscript  were  lines  that 
once  had  aroused  the  sick  and  bitter  resent- 
ment of  Truedale  in  the  past: 

"Thy  story  hath  been  written  long  since. 
Thy  part  is  to  read  and  interpret." 

Over  and  over  again  he  read  the  words  and  pon- 
dered upon  his  own  change  of  mind.  Youth,  no 
matter  how  lean  and  beggared  it  may  be,  craves 
and  insists  upon  conflict — upon  the  personal  loss 
and  gain.  But  as  time  takes  one  into  its  secrets, 
the  soul  gets  the  wider — Truedale  now  was  sure  it 
was  the  wider — outlook.  Having  fought — because 
the  fight  was  part  of  the  written  story — the  craving 
for  victory,  of  the  lesser  sort,  dwindled,  while  the 
higher  call  made  its  appeal.  To  be  part  of  the 
universal;  to  look  back  upon  the  steps  that  led  up, 
or  even  down,  and  hold  the  firm  belief  that  here,  or 
elsewhere — what  mattered  in  the  mighty  chain  of 
many  links — the  "interpretation"  told ! 

Truedale  came  to  the  conclusion  that  fatalism  was 
no  weak  and  spineless  philosophy,  but  one  for  the 
making  of  strong  souls. 

Failure,  even  wrong,  might  they  not,  if  unfettered 

338 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  339 

by  the  narrow  limitations  of  here  and  now,  prove 
miracle-working  elements? 

Then  the  effect  upon  others  entered  into  Truedale's 
musings  as  it  had  in  the  beginning.  The  "stories" 
of  others!  He  leaned  his  head  at  this  juncture  upon 
his  clasped  hands  and  thought  of  Nella-Rose! 
Thought  of  her  as  he  always  did — tenderly,  gently, 
but  as  holding  no  actual  part  in  his  real  life.  She 
was  like  something  that  had  gained  power  over  an 
errant  and  unbridled  phase  of  his  past  existence. 
He  could  not  make  her  real  in  the  sense  of  the  reality 
of  the  men,  women,  and  affairs  that  now  sternly 
moulded  and  commanded  him.  She  was — she  always 
would  be  to  him — a  memory  of  something  lovely, 
dear,  but  elusive.  He  could  no  longer  place  and 
fix  her.  She  belonged  to  that  strange  period  of  his 
life  when,  in  the  process  of  finding  himself,  he  had 
blindly  plunged  forward  without  stopping  to  count 
the  cost  or  waiting  for  clear-sightedness. 

"What  has  she  become?"  he  thought,  sitting 
apart  with  his  secret  work.  And  then  most  fer- 
vently he  hoped  that  what  Lynda  had  once  suggested 
might  indeed  be  true.  He  prayed,  as  such  men  do 
pray,  that  the  experience  which  had  enabled  him  to 
understand  himself  and  life  better  might  also  have 
given  Nella-Rose  a  wider,  freer  space  in  which  to 
play  her  chosen  part. 

He  recalled  his  knowledge  of  the  hill-women  as 
Jim  White  had  described  them — women  to  whom 


340  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

love,  in  its  brightest  aspect,  is  denied.  Surely 
Nella-Rose  had  caught  a  glimpse  more  radiant  than 
they.  Had  it  pointed  her  to  the  heaven  of  good 
women — or ? 

And  eventually  this  theme  held  and  swayed  the 
play — this  effect  of  a  deep  love  upon  such  a  nature 
as  Nella-Rose's,  the  propelling  power — the  redeeming 
and  strengthening  influence.  In  the  end  Truedale 
called  his  work  "The  Interpretation." 

And  while  this  was  going  on  behind  the  attic  door, 
a  seemingly  slight  incident  had  the  effect  of  reinforc- 
ing Truedale's  growing  belief  in  his  philosophy. 

He  and  Lynda  went  one  day  to  the  studio  of  a 
sculptor  who  had  suddenly  come  into  fame  because 
of  a  wonderful  figure,  half  human,  half  divine,  that 
had  startled  the  sophisticated  critics  out  of  their 
usual  calm. 

The  man  had  done  much  good  work  before,  but 
nothing  remarkable;  he  had  taken  his  years  of  labour 
with  patient  courage,  insisting  that  they  were  but 
preparation.  He  had  half  starved  in  the  beginning 
—had  gradually  made  his  way  to  what  every  one 
believed  was  a  mediocre  standstill;  but  he  kept  his 
faith  and  his  cheerful  outlook,  and  then — he  quietly 
presented  the  remarkable  figure  that  demanded  rec- 
ognition and  appreciation. 

The  artist  had  sold  his  masterpiece  for  a  sum  that 
might  reasonably  have  caused  some  excitement  in 
his  life — but  it  had  not! 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  341 

"I'm  sorry  I  let  the  thing  go,"  he  confided  to  a 
chosen  few;  "come  and  help  me  bid  it  good-bye." 

Lynda  and  Conning  were  among  the  chosen,  and 
upon  the  afternoon  of  their  call  they  happened  to  be 
alone  with  him  in  the  studio. 

All  other  pieces  of  work  had  been  put  away; 
the  figure,  in  the  best  possible  light,  stood  alone;  and 
the  master,  in  the  most  impersonal  way,  stood  guard 
over  it  with  reverent  touch  and  hushed  voice. 

Had  his  attitude  been  a  pose  it  would  have  been 
ridiculous;  but  it  was  so  detached,  so  sincere,  so  ab- 
solutely humble,  that  it  rose  to  the  height  of  digni- 
fied simplicity. 

"Thornton,  where  did  you  get  your  inspiration — 
your  model?"  Truedale  asked,  after  the  beauty  of  the 
thing  had  sunk  into  his  heart. 

"  In  the  clay.  Such  things  are  always  in  the  clay," 
was  the  quiet  reply. 

Lynda  was  deeply  moved,  not  only  by  the  statue, 
but  by  its  creator.  "Tell  us,  please,"  she  said  earn- 
estly, "just  what  you  mean.  I  think  it  will  help 
us  to  understand." 

Thornton  gave  a  nervous  laugh.  He  was  a  shy, 
retiring  man  but  he  thought  now  only  of  this 
thing  he  had  been  permitted  to  portray. 

"I  always"-  -  he  began  hesitatingly — "take  my 
plaster  in  big  lumps,  squeeze  it  haphazard,  and  then 
sit  and  look  at  it.  After  that,  it  is  a  mere  matter  of 
choice  and  labour  and — determination.  When  this" 


342  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

—he  raised  his  calm  eyes  to  the  figure — "came  to  me 
—in  the  clay — I  saw  it  as  plainly  as  I  see  it  now.  I 
couldn't  forget,  or,  if  I  did,  I  began  again.  Some- 
times, I  confess,  I  got  weird  results  as  I  worked; 
once,  after  three  days  of  toil,  a — a  devil  was  evolved. 
It  wasn't  bad,  either,  I  almost  decided  to — to  keep  it; 
but  soon  again  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  vision, 
always  lurking  close.  So  I  pinched  and  smoothed 
off  and  added  to,  and,  in  the  end,  the  vision  stayed. 
It  was  in  the  clay — everything  is,  with  me.  If  I 
cannot  see  it  there,  I  might  as  well  give  up." 

"Thornton,  that's  why  you  never  lost  courage!" 
Truedale  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  that's  the  reason,  old  man." 

Lynda  came  close.  "Thank  you,"  she  said  with 
deep  feeling  in  her  voice,  "I  do  understand;  I  thought 
I  would  if  you  explained,  and — I  think  your  method 
is— Godlike!" 

Thornton  flushed  and  laughed.  "Hardly  that," 
he  returned,  "it's  merely  my  way  and  I  have  to  take 
it." 

It  was  late  summer  when  Truedale  completed  the 
play.  Lynda  and  the  children  were  away;  the  city 
was  hot  and  comparatively  empty.  It  was  a  time 
when  no  manager  wanted  to  look  at  manuscripts, 
but  if  one  was  forced  upon  him,  he  would  have  more 
leisure  to  examine  it  than  he  would  have  later  on. 

Taking  advantage  of  this,  Truedale — anxious  but 
strangely  insistent — fought  his  way  past  the  men 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  343 

hired  to  defeat  such  a  course,  and  got  into  the  pres- 
ence of  a  manager  whose  opinion  he  could  trust. 

After  much  argument — and  the  heat  was  terrific 
—the  great  man  promised,  in  order  to  rid  himself 
of  Truedale's  presence,  to  read  the  stuff.  He  hadn't 
the  slightest  intention  of  doing  so,  and  meant  to  start 
it  on  its  downward  way  back  to  the  author  as  soon  as 
the  proper  person — in  short  his  private  secretary — 
came  home  from  his  vacation. 

But  that  evening  an  actress  who  was  fine  enough 
and  charmingly  temperamental  enough  to  compel 
attention,  bore  down  through  the  heat  upon  the 
manager,  with  the  appalling  declaration  that  she  was 
tired  to  death  of  the  part  selected  for  her  in  her  play, 
and  would  have  none  of  it! 

"But  good  Lord!"  cried  the  manager,  fanning 
himself  with  his  panama — they  were  at  a  roof  garden 
restaurant — "this  is  August — and  you  go  on  in 
October." 

"Not  as  a  depraved  and  sensual  woman,  Mr. 
Camden;  I  want  to  be  for  once  in  my  life  a  character 
that  women  can  remember  without  blushing." 

"But,  my  poor  child,  that's  your  splendid  art. 
You  are  a — an  angel-woman,  but  you  can  play  a 
she-devil  like  an  inspired  creature.  You  don't  mean 
that  you  seriously  contemplate  ruining  my  reputation 
and  your  own — by — 

"I  mean,"  said  the  angel-woman,  sipping  her 
sauterne,  "that  I  don't  care  a  flip  for  your  reputation 


344  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

or  mine — the  weather's  too  hot — but  I'm  not  going 
to  trail  through  another  slimy  play!  No;  I'll  go 
into  the  movies  first!" 

Camden  twisted  his  collar;  he  felt  as  if  he  were 
choking.  "Heaven  forbid!"  was  all  he  could  man- 
age. 

"I  want  woods  and  the  open!  I  want  a  character 
with  a  little,  twisted,  unawakened  soul  to  be  unsnarled 
and  made  to  behave  itself.  I  don't  mind  being  a  bit 
naughty — if  I  can  be  spanked  into  decorum.  But 
when  the  curtain  goes  down  on  my  next  play, 
Camden,  the  women  are  going  out  of  the  theatre 
with  a  kind  thought  of  me,  not  throbbing  with  dis- 
approval— good  women,  I  mean!" 

And  then,  because  Camden  was  a  bit  of  a  senti- 
mentalist with  a  good  deal  of  superstition  tangled 
in  his  make-up,  he  took  Truedale's  play  out  of  his 
pocket — it  had  been  spoiling  the  set  of  his  coat  all 
the  evening — and  spread  it  out  on  the  table  that  was 
cleared  now  of  all  but  the  coffee  and  the  cigarettes 
which  the  angel-woman — Camden  did  not  smoke- 
was  puffing  luxuriously. 

"Here's  some  rot  that  a  fellow  managed  to  drop 
on  me  to-day.  I  didn't  mean  to  undo  it,  but  if  it 
has  an  out-of-door  setting,  I'll  give  it  a  glance!" 

"Has  it?"  asked  the  angel,  watching  the  perspiring 
face  of  Camden. 

"It  has!     Big  open.     Hills — expensive  open." 

"Is  it  rot?" 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  345 

"Umph — listen  to  this!"  Camden's  sharp  eye 
lighted  on  a  vivid  sentence  or  two.  "Not  the  usual 
type  of  villain — and  the  girl  is  rather  unique.  Up 
to  tricks  with  her  eyes  shut.  I  wonder  how  she'll  pan 
out?"  Camden  turned  the  pages  rapidly,  over- 
looking some  of  Con's  best  work,  but  getting  what 
he,  himself,  was  after. 

"  By  Jove !  she  doesn't  do  it ! " 

"What — push  those  matches  this  way — what 
doesn't  she  do?"  asked  the  angel. 

"Eternally  damn  the  man  and  claim  her  sex 
privilege  of  unwarranted  righteousness!" 

"Does  she  damn  herself — like  an  idiot?"  The 
angel  was  interested. 

"She  does  not!  She  plays  her  own  little  role  by 
the  music  of  the  experience  she  lived  through.  It's 
not  bad,  by  the  lord  Harry!  It's  got  to  be  tinkered 
— and  painted  up — but  it's  original.  Just  look  it 
over. " 

Truedale's  play  was  pushed  across  the  table  and 
the  angel-woman  seized  upon  it.  The  taste  Camden 
had  given  her — like  caviar — sharpened  her  appetite. 
She  read  on  in  the  swift,  skipping  fashion  that  would 
have  crushed  an  author's  hopes,  but  which  grasped 
the  high  lights  and  caught  the  deep  tones.  Then 
the  woman  looked  up  and  there  were  genuine  tears 
in  her  eyes. 

"The  little  brick!"  said  the  voice  of  loveliness 
and  thrills,  "the  splendid  little  trump!  Why,  Cam- 


346  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

den,  she  had  her  ideals — real,  fresh,  woman-ideals — 
not  the  ideals  plastered  on  us  women  by  men,  who 
would  loathe  them  for  themselves!  She  just  picked 
up  the  scraps  of  her  damaged  little  affairs  and  went, 
without  a  whimper,  to  the  doing  of  the  only  job  she 
could  ever  hope  to  succeed  in.  And  she  let  the  man- 
who-learned  go!  Gee!  but  that  was  a  big  decision. 
She  might  so  easily  have  muddled  the  whole  scheme 
of  things,  but  she  didn't!  The  dear,  little,  scrimpy, 
patched  darling. 

"Oh!  Camden,  I  want  to  be  that  girl  for  as  long 
a  run  as  you  can  force.  After  the  first  few  weeks 
you  won't  have  to  bribe  folks  to  come — it'll  take 
hold,  after  they  have  got  rid  of  bad  tastes  in  their 
mouths  and  have  found  out  what  we're  up  to !  Don't 
count  the  cost,  Camden.  This  is  a  chance  for  civic 
virtue." 

"Do  you  want  more  cigarettes,  my  dear?" 

"No.     I've  smoked  enough." 

Camden  drew  the  manuscript  toward  him.  "It's 
a  damned  rough  diamond,"  he  murmured. 

"But  you  and  I  know  it  is  a  diamond,  don't  we, 
Camby?" 

"Well,  it  sparkles — here  and  there." 

"And  it  mustn't  be  ruined  in  the  cutting  and 
setting,  must  it?"  The  angel  was  wearing  her  most 
devout  and  flattering  expression.  She  was  handling 
her  man  with  inspired  touch. 

"Umph!     Well,   no.     The  thing  needs  a  master 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST  347 

hand;  no  doubt  of  that.  But  good  Lord!  think  of 
the  cost.  This  out-of-door  stuff  costs  like  all 
creation.  Your  gowns  will  let  you  out  easy — you 
can  economize  on  this  engagement — but  have  a  heart 
and  think  of  me!" 

"  I — I  do  think  of  you,  Camby.  You  know  as  well 
as  I  that  New  York  is  at  your  beck  and  call.  What 
you  say — goes!  Call  them  now  to  see  something 
that  will  make  them  sure  the  world  isn't  going  to  the 
devil,  Camden.  In  this  scene" — and  here  the  woman 
pulled  the  manuscript  back — "when  that  little 
queen  totes  her  heavy  but  sanctified  heart  up  the 
trail,  men  and  women  will  shed  tears  that  will  do 
them  good — tears  that  will  make  them  see  plain 
duty  clearer.  Men  and — yes,  women,  too,  Camby 
— want  to  be  decent,  only  they've  lost  the  way. 
This  will  help  them  to  find  it!" 

"We've  got  to  have  two  strong  men."  Camden 
dared  not  look  at  the  pleading  face  opposite.  But 
something  was  already  making  him  agree  with  it. 

"And,  by  heavens,  I  don't  know  of  but  one  who 
isn't  taken." 

"There's  a  boy — he's  only  had  minor  parts  so 
far — but  I  want  him  for  the  man-who-learned- 
his-lesson.  You  can  give  the  big  wood-giant  to 
John  Harrington — I  heard  to-day  that  he  was 
drifting,  up  to  date — but  I  want  Timmy  Nichols 
for  the  other  part." 

"Nichols?     Thunder!     He's  only  done — -what  in 


348  THE  MAN  THOU  GAVEST 

the  dickens  has  he  done?  I  remember  him,  but 
I  can't  recall  his  parts." 

"That's  it!  That's  it!  Now  I  want  him  to  drive 
his  part  home — with  himself!" 

Camden  looked  across  at  the  vivid  young  face 
that  a  brief  but  brilliant  career  had  not  ruined. 

"I  begin  to  understand,"  he  muttered. 

"Do  you,  Camden?  Well,  I'm  only  beginning  to 
understand  myself!" 

"Together,  you'll  be  corking!"  Camden  suddenly 
grew  enthusiastic. 

"Won't  we?  And  he  did  so  hate  to  have  me 
slimy.  No  one  but  Timmy  and  my  mother  ever 
cared!" 

"We'll  have  this — this  fellow  who  wrote  the 
play — what's  his  name?" 

"Truedale."  The  woman  referred  to  the  manu- 
script. 

"Yes.  Truedale.  We'll  have  him  to  dinner  to- 
morrow. I'll  get  Harrington  and  Nichols.  Where 
shall  we  go?" 

"There's  a  love  of  a  place  over  on  the  East  Side. 
They  give  you  such  good  things  to  eat — and  leave 
you  alone." 

"We'll  go  there!" 


It   was    November   before    the    rush    and    hurry 
of  preparation  were  over  and  Truedale's  play  an- 


.  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  349 

nounced.  His  name  did  not  appear  on  it  so  his 
people  were  not  nerve-torn  and  desperate.  True- 
dale  often  was,  but  he  managed  to  hide  the  worst 
and  suffer  in  silence.  He  had  outlived  the  anguish 
of  seeing  his  offspring  amputated,  ripped  open,  and 
stuffed.  He  had  come  to  the  point  where  he  could 
hear  his  sacredest  expressions  denounced  as  rot  and 
supplanted  by  others  that  made  him  mentally  ill. 
But  in  the  end  he  acknowledged,  nerve-racked  as 
he  was,  that  the  thing  of  which  he  had  dreamed— 
the  thing  he  had  tried  to  do — remained  intact.  His 
eyes  were  moist  when  the  curtain  fell  upon  his  "In- 
terpretation" at  the  final  rehearsal. 

Then  he  turned  his  attention  to  his  personal 
drama.  He  chose  his  box;  there  were  to  be  Lynda 
and  Ann,  Brace  and  Betty,  McPherson  and  himself 
in  it.  Betty,  Brace,  and  the  doctor  were  to  have 
the  three  front  chairs — not  because  of  undue  humility 
on  the  author's  part,  but  because  there  would,  of 
course,  be  a  big  moment  of  revelation — a  moment 
when  Lynda  would  know!  When  that  came  it 
would  be  better  to  be  where  curious  eyes  could  not 
behold  them.  Perhaps — Truedale  was  a  bit  anxious 
over  this — perhaps  he  might  have  to  take  Lynda 
away  after  the  first  act,  and  before  the  second  began, 
in  order  to  give  her  time  and  opportunity  to  rally 
her  splendid  serenity. 

And  after  the  play  was  over — after  he  knew  how 
the  audience  had  taken  it — there  was  to  be  a  small 


350  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

supper — just  the  six  of  them — and  during  that  he 
would  confess,  for  better  or  worse.  He  would  revel 
in  their  joy,  if  success  were  his,  or  lean  upon  their 
sympathy  if  Fate  proved  unkind. 

Truedale  selected  the  restaurant,  arranged  for 
the  flowers,  and  then  grew  so  rigidly  quiet  and  pale 
that  Lynda  declared  that  the  summer  in  town  had 
all  but  killed  him  and  insisted  that  he  take  a  vacation. 

"We  haven't  had  our  annual  honeymoon  trip, 
Con,"  she  pleaded;  "let's  take  it  now." 

"We'll — we'll  go,  Lyn,  just  before  Christmas." 

"Not  much!"  Lynda  tossed  her  head.  "It  will 
take  our  united  efforts  from  December  first  until 
after  Christmas  to  meet  the  demands  of  Billy  and 
Ann." 

"But,  Lyn,  the  theatre  season  has  just  opened— 
and " 

"Don't  be  a  silly,  Con.  What  do  we  care  for 
that?  Besides,  we  can  go  to  some  place  where 
there  are  theatres.  It's  too  cold  to  go  into  the  wilds." 

"But  New  York  is  the  place,  Lyn." 

"Con,  I  never  saw  you  so  obstinate  and  frivolous. 
Why,  you're  thin  and  pale,  and  you  worry  me. 
I  will  never  leave  you  again  during  the  summer. 
Ann  was  edgy  about  it  this  year.  She  told  me  once 
that  she  felt  all  the  hotness  you  were  suffering.  I 
believe  she  did!  Now  will  you  come  away  for  a 
month?" 

"I — I  cannot,  Lyn." 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  351 

"  For  two  weeks,  then  ?     One  ? " 

"Darling,  after  next  week,  yes!  For  a  week  or 
ten  days." 

"Good  old  Con!  Always  so  reasonable  and — 
kind."  Lynda  lifted  her  happy  face  to  his.  .  .  . 

But  things  did  not  happen  as  Truedale  arranged 
— not  all  of  them.  There  was  a  brief  tussle,  the 
opening  night  of  the  play,  with  McPherson.  He 
didn't  see  why  he  should  be  obliged  to  sit  in  the 
front  row. 

"I'm  too  tall  and  fat!"  he  protested;  "it's  like 
putting  me  on  exhibition.  Besides,  my  dress  suit 
is  too  small  for  me  and  my  shirt-front  bulges  and — 
and  I'm  not  pretty.  Put  the  women  in  front,  True- 
dale.  What  ails  you,  anyway?" 

Conning  was  desperate.  For  a  moment  it  looked 
as  if  the  burly  doctor  were  going  to  defeat  every- 
thing. 

"I  hate  plays,  you  know!"  McPherson  was  mum- 
bling; "why  didn't  you  bring  us  to  a  musical  comedy 
or  vaudeville?  Lord!  but  it's  hot  here." 

Betty,  watching  Trued  ale's  exasperated  face, 
came  to  his  assistance. 

"When  at  a  party  you're  asked  whether  you  will 
have  tea  or  coffee,  Dr.  McPherson,"  she  said,  tug- 
ging at  his  huge  arm,  "you  mustn't  say  'chocolate/ 
it  isn't  polite.  If  Con  wants  to  mix  up  the  sexes 
he  has  a  perfect  right  to,  after  he's  ruined  himself 
buying  this  box.  Do  sit  down  beside  me,  doctor. 


352  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

When  the  audience  looks  at  my  perfectly  beautiful 
new  gown  they'll  forget  your  reputation  and  shirt- 
front." 

So,  muttering  and  frowning,  McPherson  sat  down 
beside  Betty,  and  Brace  in  lamblike  mood  dropped 
beside  him. 

"It's  wicked,"  McPherson  turned  once  more; 
"I  don't  believe  Ann  can  see  a  thing." 

"Yes,  I  can,  Dr.  McPherson — if  you  keep  put! 
I  want  to  sit  between  father  and  mommy-Lyn.  When 
I  thrill,  I  have  to  have  near  me  some  one  particular, 
to  hold  on  to." 

"You  ought  to  be  in  bed!" 

Little  Ann  leaned  against  his  shoulder.  "Don't 
be  grumpy,"  she  whispered,  "I  like  you  best  of  all 
— when  you're  not  the  doctor." 

"Umph!"  grunted  McPherson,  but  he  stayed 
"put"  after  that,  until  the  curtain  went  down  on  the 
first  act.  Then  he  turned  to  Truedale.  He  had 
been  laughing  until  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes. 

"Did  that  big  woodsman  make  you  think  of  any 
one?"  he  asked. 

"Did  he  remind  you  of  any  one?"  Truedale  re- 
turned. He  was  weak  with  excitement.  Lynda, 
sitting  beside  him,  was  almost  as  white  as  the  gown 
she  wore — for  she  had  remembered  the  old  play! 

"He's  enough  like  old  Jim  White  to  be  his  twin! 
I  haven't  laughed  so  much  in  a  month.  I  feel  as  if 
I'd  had  a  vacation  in  the  hills." 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  353 

Then  the  curtain  went  up  on  the  big  scene!  Cam- 
den  had  spared  no  expense.  That  was  his  way. 
The  audience  broke  into  appreciative  applause  as  it 
gazed  at  the  realistic  reproduction  of  deep  woods, 
dim  trails,  and  a  sky  of  gold.  It  was  an  empty  stage 
— a  waiting  moment ! 

In  the  first  act  the  characters  had  been  more  or  less 
subservient  to  the  big  honest  sheriff,  with  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  people  and  his  amazing  interpretation 
of  justice.  He  had  been  so  wise — so  deliciously 
anarchistic — that  the  real  motive  of  the  play  had 
only  begun  to  appear.  But  now  into  the  beautiful, 
lonely  woods  the  woman  came !  The  shabby,  radiant 
little  creature  with  her  tremendous  problem  yet  to 
solve.  Through  the  act  she  rose  higher,  clearer;  she 
won  sympathy,  she  revealed  herself;  and,  at  the 
end,  she  faced  her  audience  with  an  appeal  that  was 
successful  to  the  last  degree. 

In  short,  she  had  got  Truedale's  play  over  the 
footlights!  He  knew  it;  every  one  knew  it.  And 
when  the  climax  came  and  the  decision  was  made — 
leaving  the  man-who-had-learned-his-lesson  un- 
aware of  the  divine  renunciation  but  strong  enough 
to  take  up  his  life  clear-sightedly;  when  the  little 
heroine  lifted  her  eyes  and  her  empty  arms  to  the 
trail  leading  up  and  into  the  mysterious  woods — 
and  to  all  that  she  knew  they  held — something  hap- 
pened to  Truedale!  He  felt  the  clutch  of  a  small 
cold  hand  on  his.  He  looked  around,  and  into  the 


354  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

wide  eyes  of  Ann!  The  child  seemed  hypnotized 
and,  as  if  touched  by  a  magic  power,  her  resemblance 
f  to  her  mother  fairly  radiated  from  her  face.  She  was 
struggling  for  expression.  Seeking  to  find  words 
that  would  convey  what  she  was  experiencing.  It 
was  like  remembering  indistinctly  another  country 
and  scene,  whose  language  had  been  forgotten. 
Then — and  only  Lynda  and  Truedale  heard — little 
Ann  said: 

"  It's  Nella-Rose !     Father,  it's  Nella-Rose ! " 

Betty  had  been  right.  The  shock  had,  for  a  mo- 
ment, drawn  the  veil  aside,  the  child  was  looking 
back — back;  she  heard  what  others  had  called  the 
one  she  now  remembered — the  sacreder  name  had 
escaped  her! 

"Father,  it's  Nella-Rose!" 

Truedale  continued  to  look  at  Ann.  Like  a  dying 
man — or  one  suddenly  born  into  full  life — he  gradually 
understood!  As  Ann  looked  at  that  moment, 
so  had  Nella-Rose  looked  when,  in  Truedale's 
cabin,  she  turned  her  eyes  to  the  window  and  saw 
his  face! 

This  was  Nella-Rose's  child,  but  why  had  Lyn- 
da  ?  And  with  this  thought  such  a  wave  of 

emotion  swept  over  Truedale  that  he  feared,  strong 
as  he  was,  that  he  was  going  to  lose  consciousness. 
For  a  moment  he  struggled  with  sheer  physical 
sensation,  but  he  kept  his  eyes  upon  the  small,  dark 
face  turned  trustingly  to  his.  Then  he  realized 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  355 

that  people  were  moving  about;  the  body  of  the 
house  was  nearly  empty;  McPherson,  while  helping 
Betty  on  with  her  cloak,  was  commenting  upon  the 
play. 

"Good  stuff!"  he  admitted.  "Some  muscle  in 
that.  Not  the  usual  appeal  to  the  uglier  side  of  life. 
But  come,  come,  Mrs.  Kendall,  stop  crying.  It's 
only  a  play,  after  all." 

"Oh!  I  know,"  Betty  quiveringly  replied,  "but 
it's  so  human,  Dr.  McPherson.  That  dear  little 
woman  has  almost  broken  my  heart;  but  she'd  have 
broken  it  utterly  if  she  had  acted  differently.  I 
don't  believe  the  author  ever  guessed  her!  Some- 
where she  lived  and  played  her  part.  I  just  know  it ! " 

Truedale  heard  all  this  while  he  watched  the 
strained  look  fading  from  Ann's  face.  The  past  was 
releasing  her,  giving  her  back  to  the  safe,  normal 
present.  Presently  she  laughed  and  said:  "Father, 
I  feel  so  queer.  Just  as  if  I'd  been — dreaming." 

Then  she  turned  with  a  deep,  relieving  sigh  to 
Lynda.  "Thank  you  for  bringing  me,  mommy- 
Lyn,"  she  said,  "it  was  the  best  play  I've  ever  seen 
in  all  my  life.  Only  I  wish  that  nice  actress-lady 
had  gone  with  the  man  who  didn't  know.  I — I  feel 
real  sorry  for  him.  And  why  didn't  she  go? — I'd 
have  gone  as  quick  as  anything." 

The  door  had  closed  between  Ann's  past  and  her 
future!  Truedale  got  upon  his  feet,  but  he  was  still 
dazed  and  uncertain  as  to  what  he  should  do  next. 


356  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

Then  he  heard  Lynda  say,  and  it  almost  seemed  as 
if  she  spoke  from  a  distance  she  could  not  cross, 
"Little  Ann,  bring  father." 

He  looked  at  Lynda  and  her  white  face  startled 
him,  but  she  smiled  the  kind,  true  smile  that  called 
upon  him  to  play  his  part. 

Somehow  the  rest  of  the  plan  ran  as  if  no  cruel  jar 
had  preceded  it.  The  supper  was  perfect — the 
guests  merry — and,  when  he  could  command  him- 
self, Truedale — keeping  his  eyes  on  Lynda's  face — 
confessed. 

For  a  moment  every  one  was  quiet.  Surprise, 
delight,  stayed  speech.  Then  Ann  asked:  "And 
did  you  do  it  behind  the  locked  door,  father?" 

"Yes,  Ann." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  I  kept  Billy  out!" 

"And  Lyn — did  you  know?"  Betty  said,  her  pretty 
face  aglow. 

"I— I  guessed." 

But  the  men  kept  still  after  the  cordial  handshakes. 
McPherson  was  recalling  something  Jim  White 
had  said  to  him  recently  while  he  was  with  the 
sheriff  in  the  hills. 

"Doc,  that  thar  chap  yo'  once  sent  down  here — 
thar  war  a  lot  to  him  us-all  didn't  catch  onter." 

And  Brace  was  thinking  of  the  night,  long,  long 
ago,  when  Conning  threw  some  letters  upon  the 
glowing  coals  and  groaned ! 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THEY  were  home  at  last  in  old  William  True- 
dale's  quiet  house.  Conning  went  upstairs 
with  Ann.  Generally  Lynda  went  with  him 
to  kiss  Ann  good-night  before  they  bent  over  Billy's 
crib  beside  their  own  bed.  But  now,  Lynda  did 
not  join  them  and  Ann,  starry-eyed,  prattled  on 
about  the  play  and  her  joy  in  her  father's  achieve- 
ment. She  was  very  quaint  and  droll.  She  ran 
behind  a  screen  and  dropped  her  pretty  dress,  and 
issued  forth,  like  a  white-robed  angel,  in  her  long 
gown,  her  short  brown  curls  falling  like  a  beautiful 
frame  around  her  gravely  sweet  face. 

Truedale,  sitting  by  the  shaded  lamp,  looked  at 
her  as  if,  in  her  true  character,  she  stood  revealed. 

"Little  Ann,"  he  said  huskily,  "come,  let  me  hold 
you  while  we  wait  for  mommy-Lyn." 

Ann  came  gladly  and  nestled  against  his  breast. 

"To  think  it's  my  daddy  that  made  the  splendid 
play!"  she  whispered,  cuddling  closer.  "I  can  tell 
the  girls  and  be  so  proud."  Then  she  yawned  softly. 

"Mommy-Lyn,  I  suppose,  had  to  go  and  whisper 
the  secret  to  Billy,"  she  went  on,  finding  as  usual  an 
excuse  instead  of  a  rebuke.  "  Billy's  missed  the  glory 
of  his  life  because  he's  so  young!" 

357 


358  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

Another — a  longer  yawn.  Then  the  head  lay 
very  still  and  Truedale  saw  that  she  was  asleep. 
Reverently  he  kissed  her.  Then  he  bore  her  to  the 
little  bed  behind  the  white  screen,  with  its  tall  angels 
with  brooding  eyes.  As  he  laid  her  down  she  looked 
up  dreamily: 

"I'm  a  pretty  big  girl  to  be  carried,"  she  whispered, 
"but  my  daddy  is  strong  and — and  great!" 

Again  Truedale  kissed  her,  then  went  noiselessly 
to  find  Lynda. 

He  went  to  their  bedchamber,  but  Lynda  was  not 
there.  Billy,  rosy  and  with  fat  arms  raised  above 
his  pretty  blond  head,  was  sleeping— unconscious 
of  what  was  passing  near.  Truedale  went  and  looked 
yearningly  down  at  him. 

"My  boy!"  he  murmured  over  and  over  again; 
"my  boy."  But  he  did  not  kiss  Billy  just  then. 

There  was  no  doubt  in  Truedale's  mind,  now, 
as  to  where  he  would  find  Lynda.  Quietly  he  went 
downstairs  and  into  the  dim  library.  The  fire  was 
out  upon  the  hearth.  The  gray  ashes  gave  no  sign 
of  life.  The  ticking  of  the  clock  was  cruelly  loud; 
and  there,  beside  the  low,  empty  chair,  knelt  Lynda — 
her  white  dress  falling  about  her  in  motionless  folds. 

Truedale,  without  premeditation,  crossed  the  room 
and,  sitting  in  his  uncle's  chair — the  long-empty 
chair,  lifted  Lynda's  face  and  held  it  in  his  hand. 

"Lyn,"  he  said,  fixing  his  dark,  troubled  eyes 
upon  hers,  "Lyn,  who  is  Ann's  father?" 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  359 

Lynda  had  not  been  crying;  her  eyes  were  dry 
and — faithful! 

"You,  Con,"  she  said,  quietly. 

During  the  past  years  had  Lynda  ever  permitted 
herself  to  imagine  how  Conning  would  meet  this 
hour  she  could  not  have  asked  more  than  now  he 
gave.  He  was  ready,  she  saw  that,  to  assume  what- 
ever was  his  to  bear.  His  face  whitened;  his  mouth 
twitched  as  the  truth  of  what  he  heard  sunk  into  his 
soul;  but  his  gaze  never  fell  from  that  which  was 
raised  to  his. 

"Can  you — tell  me  all  about  it,  Lyn?"  he  asked. 

For  an  instant  Lynda  hesitated.  Misunder- 
standing, Truedale  added: 

"Perhaps  you'd  rather  not  to-night!  I  can  wait. 
I  trust  you  absolutely.  I  am  sure  you  acted 
wisely." 

"Oh!  Con,  it  was  not  I — not  I.  It  was  Nella- 
Rose  who  acted  wisely.  I  left  it  all  to  her!  It  was 
she  who  decided.  I  have  always  wanted,  at  least 
for  years,  to  have  you  know;  but  it  was  Nella-Rose's 
wish  that  you  should  not.  And  now,  little  Ann  has 
made  it  possible." 

And  then  Lynda  told  him.  He  had  relinquished 
his  hold  upon  her  and  sat  with  tightly  clenched  hands 
gazing  at  the  ashes  on  the  hearth.  Lynda  pressed 
against  him,  watching — watching  the  effect  of  every 
word. 

"And,  Con,   at   first,  when   I   knew,  every  fibre 


360  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

of  my  being  claimed  you!  I  wanted  to  push  her 
and — and  Ann  away,  but  I  could  not!  Then  I  tried 
to  act  for  you.  I  saw  that  since  Nella-Rose  had 
been  first  in  your  life  she  should  have  whatever  be- 
longed 'to  her;  I  knew  that  you  would  have  it  so. 
When  I  could  bring  myself  to — to  stand  aside,  I 
put  us  all  into  her  keeping.  She  was  very  frightened, 
very  pitiable,  but  she  closed  her  eyes  and  I  knew  that 
she  saw  truth — the  big  truth  that  stood  guard  over 
all  our  lives  and  had  to  be  dealt  with  honestly — or  it 
would  crush  everything.  I  could  see,  as  I  watched 
her  quiet  face,  that  she  was  feeling  her  way  back, 
back.  Then  she  realized  what  it  all  meant.  Out 
of  the  struggle — the  doubt — that  big,  splendid  hus- 
band of  hers  rose  supreme — her  man!  He  had  saved 
her  when  she  had  been  most  hopelessly  lost.  What- 
ever now  threatened  him  had  to  go!  Her  girl- 
hood dream  faded  and  the  safe  reality  of  what  he 
stood  for  remained.  Then  she  opened  her  eyes 
and  made  her  great  decision.  Since  you  had  never 
dishonoured  her  in  your  thought,  she  would  not  have 
you  know  her  as  she  then  was!  But — there  re- 
mained little  Ann!  Oh!  Con,  I  never  knew,  until 
Billy  came,  what  Nella-Rose's  sacrifice  meant!  I 
thought  I  did — but  afterward,  I  knew!  One  has 
to  go  down  into  the  Valley  to  find  the  meaning  of 
motherhood.  I  had  done,  or  tried  to  do,  my  duty 
before,  but  Billy  taught  me  to  love  Ann  and  under- 
stand— the  rest!" 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  361 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  Among  the 
white  ashes  a  tiny  red  spark  was  showing.  It 
glowed  and  throbbed;  it  was  trying  hard  to  find 
something  upon  which  to  live. 

"And,  Lyn,  after  she  went  back  to  the  hills — 
how  was  it  with  her?" 

"She  laid  everything  but  your  name  upon  the 
soul  of  her  man.  He  never  exacted  more.  His 
love  was  big  enough — divine  enough — to  accept. 
Oh!  Con,  through  all  the  years  when  I  have  tried 
to — to  do  my  part,  the  husband  of  Nella-Rose  has 
helped  me  to  do  it!  Nella-Rose  never  looked  back 
—to  Ann  and  me.  Having  laid  the  child  upon  the 
altar,  she — trusted." 

"Yes,  that  would  be  her  way."  Truedale's  voice 
broke  a  bit. 

"But,  Con,  I  kept  in  touch  with  her  through  that 
wonderful  old  woman — Lois  Ann.  I — oh!  Con,  I 
made  life  easier,  brighter  for  them  all;  just  as — as 
you  would  have  done.  Lois  Ann  has  told  me  of  the 
happiness  of  the  little  cabin  home,  of  the  children 
— there  are  three — 

A  sharp  pause  caused  Truedale  to  turn  and  look 
at  Lynda. 

"And — now?"  he  asked. 

"Con,  Nella-Rose  died  last  year!" 

The  stillness  in  the  room  pressed  close;  even  the 
clock's  ticking  was  unnoticed.  The  spark  upon  the 
hearth  had  become  a  flame;  it  had  found  something 


362  THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST 

upon  which  to  feed.  Like  a  radiant  hope  it  rose, 
faded,  then  leaped  higher  among  the  white  ashes. 

"She  went,  Con,  like  a  child  tired  of  its  play. 
She  was  with  Lois  Ann;  it  was  the  hill-fever,  and  she 
was  mercifully  spared  the  knowledge  of  suffering 
or — renunciation.  She  kept  repeating  that  she  saw 
beautiful  things;  she  was  glad — glad  to  the  last 
minute.  Her  children  and  husband  have  gone  to 
Nella-Rose's  old  home.  Lois  Ann  says  they  are 
saving  everybody!  That's  all,  Con — all." 

Then  Truedale,  his  eyes  dim  but  undaunted, 
leaned  and  drew  Lynda  up  until,  kneeling  before  him, 
her  hands  upon  his  shoulders,  they  faced  each  other. 

"And  this  is  the  way  women — save  men!"  he 
said. 

"It  is  the  way  they  try  to  save — themselves," 
Lynda  replied. 

"Oh,  Con,  Con,  when  will  our  men  learn  that  it 
is  the  one  life,  the  one  great  love  that  we  women 
want? — the  full  knowledge  and — responsibility?" 

"My  darling!"  Truedale  kissed  the  tendermouth. 
Then  drawing  her  close,  he  asked : 

"  Do  you  remember  that  day  in  Thornton's  studio 
— and  his  words?  Looking  back  at  my  life,  I  can- 
not understand — I  may  never  understand — what  the 
Creator  meant,  but  I  do  know  that  it  was  all  in 
the  clay!" 

Lynda  drew  away — her  hands  still  holding  him. 
Her  brave  smile  was  softening  her  pale  face. 


THE  MAN  THOU  GAYEST  363 

"Oh!  the  dear,  dear  clay!"  she  whispered.  "The 
clay  that  has  been  pressed  and  moulded — how  I 
love  it.  I  also  do  not  understand,  Con,  but  this 
I  know:  the  Master  never  lost  the  vision  in  the 
clay." 

THE    END 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS 
GARDEN   CITY,  N.  Y. 


